The Mating Game
by MamaWeasley
Summary: Hermione's brain tells her that marrying Severus is the logical choice. Will she ever get her heart to agree? NOW COMPLETE
1. Prologue

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Disclaimer

All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing; I'm just playing around with JKR's people and places for fun, and certainly not making any money.

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Prologue

Victory had come at a great price.

The wizarding population of Great Britain, already dwindling before the war, had been cut in half by the epic battles leading to Voldemort's defeat. And now, thought the newly-elected Minister of Magic, the British wizard was an endangered species.

He had hoped that the months that followed Voldemort's defeat would be filled by a major baby boom. It had happened to the Muggles, after all, following their Second World War. Unfortunately, his correspondents at St. Mungo's and other medical institutions had indicated that there were fewer pregnancies, if anything. So much for letting nature take its course!

Some of the Muggle communities in Europe gave people with children a monthly stipend, in an attempt to encourage childbearing. In days past, the Minister would have gladly attempted a plan such as this. Sadly, it was not possible any more. The British Ministry of Magic was currently low on funding. The war had exhausted the stockpile of gold in the Ministry's Gringotts vault and most of what was left had been given out to war heroes. (The Order of Merlin, like the Nobel Prize, came with a sizable stipend attached.)

No, money was not the answer to this problem. It was time to take action. Drastic action. 

A quick Floo call to his wife let her know that he would not be home until late. Getting the wording right on this legislation would take most of the night.

Removing his glasses, the Minister rubbed his eyes vigorously. Then, with a sigh, he replaced his spectacles, picked up his quill and began to write.


	2. The Ultimatum

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Chapter One

The Ultimatum

A warm summer morning was just dawning over the seaside community of Dover when the newspaper owl arrived. On the back porch of the small cottage labeled number eighteen Cliffside Drive, Hermione Granger counted out some Knuts for the paper and lazily unfurled the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet. She almost dropped her coffee cup in shock. The banner headline read:

REPRODUCE—OR ELSE!

Her eyes flicked down to the print below and began scanning. Surely they weren't serious?

But yes, they were. Terribly so. The Minister of Magic had decreed that all wizards and witches of childbearing age in Britain were to produce a minimum of two children in the next five years, or face the consequences.

__

Yeah, right, thought Hermione. _There's no way they can get me to have a kid without my consent._

"Actual text of the law—page five," she mumbled, and turned the pages with fumbling fingers. A quick scan of the page revealed the section she was interested in.

SECTION 2. ENFORCEMENT.

A. Violation of the law is present if a witch or wizard has not produced one child by July 15, 2002 or has not produced two children by July 15, 2005. Exceptions are granted only under terms of Section 3, below.

Denial of licenses. Those found in violation of the law will have revoked all licenses issued by the Ministry of Magic, and will be unable to have said licenses reinstated until terms of the law have been met. This includes, but is not limited to, apparition, business, and professional certification licenses. Ministry Hiring Policy. Witches and wizards found to be in violation of the law will be considered unqualified for Ministry employment. Those currently employed by the ministry at the time of violation shall have 90 (ninety) days parole to comply with the law before losing their positions. End of Further Education. Those found in violation of the law shall be denied the privilege of attending any Ministry-approved university or completing an officially sanctioned apprenticeship. __

By all that is holy, thought Hermione in aggravation. She was right; they couldn't force her to get pregnant. They could, however, deny her all the privileges associated with being a witch. Eagerly she investigated the section on exceptions. Perhaps she could find a loophole?

SECTION 3. EXCEPTIONS.

Witches or wizards who are expecting a child are automatically granted an extension until 4 (four) weeks following expected due date of child. Witches or wizards who have experienced a miscarriage within the past six months are granted a 12 (twelve) month extension. Form 1257B must be filed with the Ministry records office within two months of the miscarriage. Wizards who are 100 (one hundred) years of age or greater are exempted from the law, though they are still encouraged to procreate. Wizards and witches who are incapable of childbearing are permanently exempted from the law. Those seeking exemption under this paragraph must file a mediwizard's certificate and Form 1258 with the Ministry records office. __

Rats, thought Hermione. She knew she couldn't get a mediwitch's exemption; her last physical exam had shown her reproductive systems fully functional. She continued reading the law, desperate to find an exception that suited her taste.

Witches and wizards with six or more offspring are exempted from the provisions of this law, as well as any reproductive laws which are passed in the future. 

"I should have known he'd put that in," she grumbled aloud. "I'm going to kill him. Exempting himself from his own law and subjecting me to it at the same time."

Hermione sighed in frustration. She didn't even have a boyfriend. How in the world was she supposed to find a decent father for her child? _Well, if nothing else,_ she thought, _I can at least approach the problem in a logical fashion._

She got up, stomped into the house and pried an enormous volume from one of the bookshelves. Propping the book on a stand next to her computer, she waved her wand and muttered, "Legere". Immediately her computer whirred to life, hard drive gurgling as it processed the information.

__

This is definitely one of the advantages of being a Muggle-born witch, thought Hermione, staring mutely at the monitor. Technically speaking, her computer setup was an Illegally Enchanted Muggle Object, but the Ministry had turned a blind eye to her little experiment. 

During the war against Voldemort, Hermione had noticed that the magical world suffered from the inability to process large quantities of information at once. She'd developed the Legere charm to deal with this shortcoming; it allowed her to magically download the contents of a book into a database on her computer. 

Oddly enough, she'd never before needed to download the book sitting in the encoding stand on her desk. Hermione peeped at the back page of the hefty volume; it had 1800 pages. It would take over twelve hours to transfer the contents of Who's Who in Wizarding Britain to her hard drive. In the meantime, she had a birthday present to buy and a party to attend.

__

What a party this will be, she thought bitterly. _I suppose I'm expected to be polite. And he expects me to buy him a present? Ha! I guess it's time to visit Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!_


	3. Happy Birthday

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Chapter Two

Happy Birthday!

The current Minister of Magic's birthday party was a small one, in sharp contrast to the huge society affairs Cornelius Fudge had been known for. For starters, Arthur Weasley held his celebration at the Burrow, instead of the Grand Diagon Hotel. 

Instead of inviting hundreds of people like his predecessor, Arthur had a limited guest list. Invitees included the seven Weasley children, the seven Weasley children's spouses, and the one (so far) Weasley grandchild. Also included were, of course, two honorary Weasleys—Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.

By unanimous request, the food was prepared by Molly Weasley, with help from her daughter-in-law Millie, and (due to the vast quantities of food required) their newly employed house-elf, Winky. It was delicious, Hermione thought, as she nibbled at appetizers and made the rounds of the guests (surreptitiously avoiding the guest of honor).

Since she'd been by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes earlier in the day, she first spoke to Fred and George, who had married Padma and Parvati Patil. Hermione guessed that several sets of identical twins would come from those unlikely unions, though neither couple had conceived yet. She had a sneaking suspicion that Fred and George were trying to achieve more or less simultaneous conceptions and births. The thought of two sets of Weasley twins attending Hogwarts at the same time was almost enough to give her indigestion.

Percy had finally married Penelope Clearwater. (It was she who had finally convinced him to side with Dumbledore.) Their daughter, Patricia, had been born just one month before her grandfather's baby-or-bust law, so Percy and Penelope were going to be required to have three children, rather than the two they had planned. Hermione forced herself to coo over the little bundle of pink, but moved on as soon as possible—the thought of holding an infant reminded her too much of the recently-passed Wizard Preservation Law, which she was trying desperately to forget.

Ron fawned over his wife, Millie Bulstrode Weasley. Millie had been one of the two Slytherins in their year who had turned against their housemates to help the Order of the Phoenix overcome Voldemort. Ron hadn't planned to marry Millicent, but the pair had enjoyed themselves a little too much during the victory party and she had ended up pregnant. Ron had proposed out of duty, but felt that he'd ended up being blessed with a good match; both he and his wife loved good food and Quidditch. 

Millie, who was tall and broad, was barely showing after six months of pregnancy. Hermione began wondering what she—short and thin—would look like at the same stage. It was not a train of thought she wanted to pursue, so she continued on her rounds.

Draco Malfoy, the most recent addition to the Weasley clan, had married Ginny at the beginning of July. The Weasleys had initially been skeptical of Draco's intentions, but his heroic actions in the final battle against Voldemort—including his rescue of Ginny—had finally convinced Molly and Arthur that he wasn't a slimy git, after all. Ginny and Draco were not yet out of the newlywed phase—still pawing at each other in public—and Hermione left them before she lost her appetite.

The most interesting pre-dinner conversation came from Bill and Charlie Weasley, who were now both teaching at Hogwarts. Bill and his wife Fleur were jointly teaching Defense against the Dark Arts. ("Hopefully, with two of us, the jinx on that position will be broken," commented Bill.) Charlie had taken over Hagrid's old position—the former gamekeeper had moved to France to be with Madame Maxime—and was now living in Hagrid's old cabin with his wife, Angelina Johnson.

The gossip about Hogwarts was punctuated with hysterical giggles as the former students speculated on which teachers would be having children due to the new law. The biggest debate was whether Professor McGonagall had hit menopause yet or not. Hermione thought not, but Fleur winked and mentioned that Albus Dumbledore had started openly flirting with Minerva after reading the article in the Daily Prophet. Hermione could hardly believe that even her former mentor had a suitor, when she didn't.

At last Molly came to direct everyone to the table for dinner. The meal—served outside, of course, given the number of people present—was a raucous affair. Hermione found herself sitting between Harry and Millie and directly across from Arthur. She felt very awkward trying to make conversation with Mr. Weasley after what she had read that morning and therefore focused all of her attention on her plate.

When Harry had finally finished eating his main course, he addressed Arthur, echoing the thoughts that Hermione had kept suppressed all evening. "Mr. Weasley, you've passed a ridiculous law this time!"

Arthur smiled. "It's time you settled down anyway, Harry. What are you complaining about?"

"What I'm complaining about is the heap of mail on my desk—at least two hundred unmarried witches have proposed to me today!"

Hermione couldn't help but giggle nervously. Inside, though, her heart ached painfully. Not one person had sent her an owl with a marriage proposal. Not one wizard felt that she, Hermione Granger—hero of the war, former Head Girl, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class, brilliant witch—was worthy of marriage.

Arthur's eyes were almost as twinkly as Dumbledore's tonight. "I've been kind of hoping that the more, er, talented witches and wizards would reproduce more than necessary—in an effort to raise the quality of the wizarding population—"

Harry scowled. "You know, Arthur, if I rebuild the house at Godric's Hollow to its original specifications—as I fully intend to do—I will have room for at least eight children. I kind of hoped to meet that quota. However, I always assumed that I would take the time to select an appropriate spouse first."

"Hear, hear!" said Hermione energetically.

Arthur's glance from Harry to Hermione and back again said more than words ever could. The two looked at each other and rolled their eyes. "No thanks," said Hermione simply. "We tried it, and it just felt too—well, incestuous. Harry's the closest thing I have to a brother."

"Ah well," said Arthur Weasley simply, dabbing at his lips with his napkin. "It was worth a try, anyway."

As the evening progressed, nothing could keep Hermione from sliding into a mind-numbing depression. She had always felt like an outsider to some extent before, but never like this. Fleur, Angelina, and Millie were discussing pregnancies; there was nothing she was interested in hearing there. The two sets of twins were engaged in a lively dialogue with Mrs. Weasley over how to time intercourse to maximize their chances of conception (ugh!). Percy and Penelope curled up in a corner, cooing at their daughter and oblivious to everyone else. Harry was entertaining Ron, Charlie, and Bill with accounts of some of the more amusing letters he'd read that morning.

Hermione was glad when the cake was brought out. She nibbled at a piece herself, then made a quick escape, not even waiting for the opening of the presents.


	4. Database Results

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Chapter Three

Database Results

Hermione was in a thoroughly bad mood by the time she got back to her home in Dover that night. She was sorely tempted to throw her copy of Who's Who out of the window and delete the whole database she'd just finished compiling without even looking at it.

Somewhere between reading that morning's news and returning home, she had disintegrated from depressed to dejected, despondent, and emotionally drained. She had to choke down three shots of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey before she felt fortified enough to begin her search.

First she had the computer eliminate all wizards who were married, dead, or not of legal age. Only two hundred remained after the first cut. _Not bad,_ she thought, _not bad at all. I was sure I would be at this all night._

Having eliminated the impossibles, her next step was to sort the remaining possibilities. At this point, she still insisted on thinking of her potential mates as statistics–it was so much easier to evaluate them in a logical fashion. 

After debating a number of sorting methods, she decided to rank the candidates by number of NEWTs received. Those who had received eight or fewer were automatically struck from the list, leaving few enough contenders that she figured it was possible to go through them one by one. Her approach had assured intelligence, which she'd always assumed would be a characteristic of her future husband; now she had to debate the other merits of the remaining choices.

She printed the remaining names, then retired to her favorite armchair with her list, a pen, and her bottle of Ogden's. Harry's name caught her eye right away–he was quite near the top, and the list of honors he had received made him stand out from the crowd. 

She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. Was there any way she could get past her utter revulsion over being intimate with him? She'd known him so long; she'd watched him grow from an awkward pre-adolescent into a gangly teen and then into a well-built, confident young man. Once, in a fit of self-pity (which was brought on by the fact that she'd never been in a physical relationship with a boy), she'd let Harry kiss her, and she'd found even that disgusting. He'd told her later that he'd felt the same way. They really were too much like brother and sister to be physically affectionate.

Yet he was one of her best friends. They worked well together–when they weren't arguing, anyway. He ought to be the logical choice. But was he? He did want eight children, after all; she could never handle so many. He wanted a wife without any career ambition. Nope, he was definitely the wrong one. _Besides,_ she thought, _between his unruly mop and my frizzy locks–our children would have impossible hair!_ She giggled as she picked up the red marker and crossed his name off.

The name below Harry's was Cornelius Fudge. She grimaced and crossed him off without a second thought. Then she realized that, because her eye had been drawn immediately to Harry, she hadn't started at the top of the list. _Let's do this in an orderly fashion, _she thought.

Number one on the list was Albus Dumbledore. Age 152? Forget it! Remembering Charlie's accounts of their former Headmaster and the flirtatious attitude he now displayed towards their former Head of House, she quietly snickered to herself. Definitely not! She crossed his name of the list and moved on.

Number two was Severus Snape. Hermione shivered, remembering his intimidating style of teaching, but scanned the entry anyway.

Snape, Severus Sebastian. (1961-) Son of Sebastian Salazar Snape (1927-1979) and Aurelia Abernathy (1943-1981). OWLs 16; NEWTS 14. Order of Merlin, First Class.

She debated for a good ten minutes before moving on to the next entry. In the end, she decided to keep her former potions professor on her list–at least for now. _Even though he also has bad hair,_ she thought moodily. _Maybe his greasy hair genes would tame the ringlet genes. Or maybe our kids would be both greasy and frizzy._

By two in the morning, she was quite tipsy (firewhiskey definitely seemed to help her evaluate the entries) and had narrowed the list to ten possibilities. She decided to go to bed and finish her analysis in the morning.

* * * 

When Hermione finally dragged herself out of bed at noon the next day, she discovered that not only did she have a pounding headache, she was clean out of hangover relief potion. Unfortunately, given her current condition, she was likely to splinch if she apparated to the apothecary's. She settled for a large quantity of black coffee instead and made a note to pick up more of the potion when her headache had disappeared.

Picking up the list she had made last night–now mostly covered in red ink–she sought out the names which had survived her second cut and made another list on a fresh sheet of parchment. Ten candidates, ages twenty-five to sixty-four. (Sixty-four? What had she been thinking?) Okay, down to nine candidates, ages twenty-five to forty-nine.

She read through their Who's Who entries twice more, biting her fingernails in concentration. Admittedly, she found herself prejudiced against most of them. Marcus Fletcher, for example, was Mundungus Fletcher's younger brother. Perhaps his personality was the complete opposite of Dung's; she would never know. Her mental image of the inebriated, scruffy spy caused her to wrinkle her nose every time she saw the name "Fletcher".

Even though none of candidates seemed particularly attractive to her, she had to choose one of them. Gritting her teeth, she ranked them in order of desirability. Her number one choice was not someone she would have even considered two days ago. 

Desperate to check her work, she got a fresh sheet of parchment and began covering it with rune-laden equations. If her talent for Arithmancy hadn't diminished, she would be fairly certain of her compatibility with candidate number one by the time evening arrived.


	5. Letters

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Chapter Four

Letters

How do you go about offering marriage to someone you haven't seen in over a year? After much thought, Hermione decided to send a letter. Several hours and twelve drafts later, she had reduced her ideas to a brief and to-the-point missive.

***

2 August 2000

Professor Snape,

Unless I have misjudged your character, you were as alarmed by the Minister's new reproduction law as I was. If you would like to take the easy way out, I may have a solution.

Owl me if you are interested.

Sincerely yours,

Hermione Granger

***

3 August 2000

Dear Prospective Marriage Partner #57,

In order to evaluate his prospects better, Professor Severus Snape hereby requests that you send the answers to the following before 10 August 2000:

1. What is your philosophy of child raising?

2. What is your financial status?

3. What do you want out of this marriage, other than children?

4. Why are you considering me as a potential mate?

Professor Snape also would like you to know that he intends to continue his teaching career at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Potential partners will therefore be willing to live on the Hogwarts grounds or in Hogsmeade village.

Peggy the house elf

For Professor Severus Snape

***

4 August 2000

Professor Snape:

All right, here are the answers to the bloody essay questions you assigned.

Each child, whether male or female, needs two parents involved in their lives. I believe that children should get plenty of attention from their parents. I'm a firm believer in attachment parenting. My children will not be placed in day care, ever. With a few exceptions, they will either be cared for by their mother, their father, or both. My financial status is almost as good as yours. You got an Order of Merlin First Class and I only got Second Class. So what. I could live a life of leisure if I wanted. I am not marrying you for your money, okay? What do I want from this marriage, other than children? Nothing, really. As far as I am concerned, this would be a marriage of convenience. Once the children are grown, I don't care if I ever see you again. Does that hurt your ego? I picked you after an in-depth analysis of the available candidates. I verified my conclusion of your suitability with arithmantic equations. 

Annoyingly yours,

Hermione Granger

***

11 August 2000

Dear Miss Granger:

Although I found you marginally annoying while you were a student, I have always considered you to be intelligent and well endowed with common sense.

While the answers to your questions were less than polite, they were nevertheless mildly refreshing after the inanities I received from the other ninety-three candidates.

If you would lower yourself enough to meet me for lunch at noon on Saturday the sixteenth of August, I would be most obliged. I shall await you at the Leaky Cauldron. If that establishment is not to your liking, we may decide on a different location at that time.

Just as Annoyingly Yours,

Severus Snape


	6. An Awkward Lunch

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Chapter Five

An Awkward Lunch

Hermione apparated to the Leaky Cauldron at 11:59 on Saturday. She remembered that her former professor had been a stickler for punctuality. 

Professor Snape was already waiting for her, still wearing the same tired black suit and black teaching robes that she remembered from her school days. Ron and Harry had once made a bet concerning that suit; Ron bet that he had only one, while Harry thought he had several copies of the same suit. That was one wager they'd never been able to settle. Hermione wondered if she could find out the answer before lunch ended. _Not likely,_ she thought. _Though if I end up marrying him, the answer will be obvious, won't it?_

"Miss Granger." His voice, low and familiar, almost seemed to transport her back to the classroom. Something was different here, though. In the classroom, he'd always been remarkably at ease, even when confronted with one of Neville's signature explosions. Today he stood stiffly with his hands in his pockets.

"Professor Snape. Good morning." She tried to keep her voice from shaking. It had been a while since she'd feared him in the classroom; from the time she'd discovered that he was a double agent, at the end of her fourth year, she'd felt a grudging respect for the silent, sullen man. Yet now, as she stood facing him, she felt as though she'd been reduced to a cowering first year. "Shall we find a table?" she managed to say. He nodded and gestured to a booth in the corner. After sitting down, they continued to appraise each other in silence until Tom came to take their orders.

Even after the food was placed before them they remained silent, glancing at each other obliquely as though sizing each other up. Hermione tried not to gulp her stew as she watched the way he methodically chewed his sandwich. Only after she had pushed away her bowl and picked up her teacup did she manage to mumble, "So, may I assume that you wanted to actually talk to me? Or were you just trying to evaluate the way I ate?"

Snape made a muffled grunt and nodded, but seemed to take his time finishing the remains of his sandwich. Finally he pulled a neatly folded piece of parchment from an inner pocket and smoothed it out on the table before him, studying it. "Actually, I did have a few questions, yes. First of all, if we were to get married, what would you expect our living arrangements to be? Would you insist on living with me?"

Hermione shrugged. She'd thought about this several times in the last few days and hadn't come to any clear conclusions. It would be better for the children, she knew, if they lived with both parents. But yet, while she thought that Snape might be a good father, she wasn't sure what sort of husband he would be. Could she really coexist with him on a daily basis?

Unfortunately, she had to answer now, so she mumbled, "Oh, I don't know. I would expect you to visit often, at the very least, for the children's sake. Whether or not we actually share the same house, much less the same bedroom" (she felt herself blushing here, for some reason) "is something I would rather play by ear–see how much of each other we can tolerate and decide based on that."

The professor responded with a nod (though the expression on his face as surly as ever) and said, "Question Two. What are your expectations regarding my role as a father?"

Hermione paused, chewed her lip a bit and said, "Well, I would expect you to be involved in some way, but I haven't really worked out how. You wouldn't need to change nappies or anything like that. Or even see the children every day, for that matter. But you do need to be there for them on a fairly regular basis. I have a Muggle friend whose parents are divorced, and her father was almost more like an uncle to her than a parent because she saw him so seldom–I don't want my children in a situation like that." 

"Okay. Now Question Three. Do you like children?"

"ErrI think so. I've never had to be a mother, though. How about you?"

He jumped a little, as if surprised by the question, then stared down at his empty plate and began drumming his fingers on the table. "Little ones arenot so annoying, I suppose. The older ones can be quite bothersome at times. However, some of my schoolmates who had similar feelings about children are now doting parents. I am forced to conclude, therefore, that one must feel differently about one's own children. And now, Question Four. If you consider our marriage to be one of convenience, will you have, shall we say, other relationships?"

Hermione didn't know whether she should break out in loud laughter or strangle the man sitting across from her. "If, by that, you mean will I have lovers, the answer is no. But I am not going to be sequestered in your dungeons for the rest of my life. Unlike you, I am not a hermit. I have friends and I'm bloody well going to see them!"

He smirked at her. "Very well, Miss Granger. If we marry, you may feel free to visit your beloved Misters Potter and Weasley so you can comment on the state of our marriage. But keep in mind that I, too, have friendships which I will not abandon. I would expect you to allow me freedom as well. And before you ask, no, I am not the type of man who takes lovers."

When he looked down, once more, at his list, he was quickly interrupted by Hermione. "Hold on a second. This is supposed to be a conversation, not an exam! Let me ask you a question!"

Snape quirked an eyebrow at her but said coldly: "Very well. Proceed."

"What is your philosophy of child raising?"

"Hmmm. Well, I'm a big believer in early education."

"Okay. I can live with that."

"And I believe that children should be raised by two parents. And" He stopped, turned his face toward the window, and stared off absently into space before adding quietly, "They should be given a great deal of affection."

"Of course," said Hermione impatiently. "I took that as a given. Most parents"

"Most, but not all!" he said sharply. "It would be my goal to do so as a father. It's just that–I'm not sure I can. I've never been a physically affectionate person." He turned so that, for the first time all day, he was looking at her directly, as though trying to skewer her with those flashing black eyes. "I feel it my duty to warn you of that, since I'm certain you couldn't figure it out on your own."

She couldn't help but giggle at his sarcasm; then, realizing the implications of what he had said to her, surprised him with a big grin. "Affection isn't limited to hugs and kisses, Professor. My father isn't a very touchy-feely kind of man, either. But when I was little he'd read to me for an hour or more every night. I looked forward to evenings with Dad from the moment I woke up! And he'd take me on long walks and show me things leaves, bugs, flowers, whateverhe knew all sorts of stuff about nature. I loved my dad as much as my mom. More, maybe."

Snape sat bolt upright, his gaze riveted on her. "Youyou think this could work, then?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

"You wouldn't insist that I show physical affection?"

"Not to the childrennot to me. Just give what is in your heart to give." As Hermione said these words, she could see the tension visibly disappear from the man across from her.

"Thank you," he said simply. There was a long pause. Then, "Will you marry me?"

She frowned at him. "Why, exactly, do you want to marry me? You seemed to indicate that there were quite a number of other applicants."

Unconsciously imitating her scowl, he replied, "First of all, I have always felt strongly that, if I ever were to marry, I would want an intelligent wife."

This was the closest Snape had ever come to complimenting her. It was so unexpected that she was starting to wonder whether this whole lunch had been a Firewhiskey-induced hallucination.

"And, second," he added, unaware of the twist her thoughts were taking, "you seem to have a great deal of confidence in my ability to parent. A man with a history like mine finds that very valuable."

He seemed serious enough, and certainly willing. She wasn't likely to get another opportunity like this–a man who, theoretically, was compatible with her and willing to marry her. So she took the chance.

"Okay," she said simply. "Let's get married, then."


	7. Wedding Day Promises

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Chapter Six

Wedding Day Promises

Hermione was not one of those girls who had dreamed about a big wedding. If truth be told, she'd never really dreamed about her wedding at all as a child– she concluded that getting married was a logical thing to do and that she would do it some day, and that was good enough for her.

Now, however, she had to think about details. Invitation list? Flowers? Gift registry? In the end, she decided that it would be a simple affair, as her fiance had requested; there was no time for anything else. As long as she notified her parents and bought a suitable outfit, she'd be fine.

Her parents had taken out a Daily Prophet subscription during the war and kept it up afterwards, so they weren't too surprised when she announced her impending marriage. Her father did frown a little when she announced her choice of husband, but overall, her parents were supportive.

And so it was that one week later, Hermione found herself standing in front of Albus Dumbledore wearing a dress robe of ivory silk. To her right stood her groom, clad in a black velvet robe of old-fashioned style. 

The ceremony was something of a blur to her. She vaguely recalled saying, "I do," hearing Professor Snape say the same, and the exchange of rings. Then they kissed gently, for the first time, and when she pulled away from her new husband she caught a glimpse of her parents' faces, happy and apprehensive at the same time.

Then there were the congratulations, which she noticed were somewhat muted, and the good-byes to be said to her parents. Snape held his arm out to her formally, she took it, and they walked somewhat stiffly down to the dungeons.

His rooms (or should she say "their rooms"?) were decorated in green. Not the bright Slytherin green, but rather a deep forest green, bordering on black. Two whole walls of the sitting room were covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves jammed full of books. That, at least, boded well for compatibility.

Her reverie was interrupted by a squeaky little voice. "Master is wanting some tea, sir?"

"That would be nice, Peggy. Will you bring a pot and two cups, please?"

"Yes, sir, right away sir. And Mister Dumbledore is sending a special cake for you, sir."

"All right. As long as it's not lemon, serve it up," scowled Snape. "Oh–and this is Mrs. Snape; you'll answer to her now as well," he added, beckoning at Hermione.

"Oh! Missus is very welcome! Peggy is telling Master for years that he is needing to get married!" The little elf squealed delightedly and disappeared, ostensibly to get the tea.

Snape motioned silently to one of the armchairs and Hermione sat down. He took the armchair next to hers. "I have a favor to ask of you," he said formally. "I suppose I ought to have asked you this before we were married, but I decided I was more likely to get your agreement once it was too late."

"Oh? I think I would be less likely to agree, actually." She was a little irritated. She'd expected a wedding day surprise of some sort– after all, she hardly knew the man she married– but she'd expected it to be a bedroom type of surprise like "Snape has a leather fetish" or "Snape wears pink bunny slippers." Certainly she hadn't expected something that could be discussed in armchairs in front of the fire. She'd assumed issues like that would be discussed before the ceremony.

Snape stood up suddenly, loomed over her, and said, "Let me start with a question. Are you scared of me?"

Her jaw dropped in shock, but she managed to pull it shut. Eventually she worked up enough presence of mind to mutter, "No. Not since my fifth year, I think." Actually, it had been the summer before fifth year–she'd overheard enough on the Extendable Ears to understand what Snape had to go through as a spy for the Order, and had somehow come to the conclusion that his prickliness was the best defense against the terrifying situations he faced.

"Excellent. Fear is hardly the best basis for a marriage, you see." He sank back in his chair, deep in reverie.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione said, "Professor?"

He responded, but his eyes were still far away. "My father was the last male in a long line of Snapes, but when, in his late forties, he showed no interest in reproduction, his parents laid down the law. He must produce a child in the next five years or be cut out of their will."

"Not too different from your current situation," commented Hermione.

If Snape heard her, he didn't show it. He just continued with the story. "He wasn't reallyall that interested in women, I guess. In fact, I'm fairly certain he swung the other way. So he took a rather Slytherin approach to the whole problem. He invited his secretary out to lunch and slipped a lust potion into her drink. By the time the potion wore off, she was pregnant. Then he did the honorable' thing and asked her to marry him. Of course, she accepted. There really was no socially acceptable alternative back then."

Peggy appeared at this point bearing tea and a miniature wedding cake, which she set down on the coffee table. Hermione picked up her cup and sipped thoughtfully but Snape just stared off into space and kept talking.

"Poor Mum. I can't say I blame her for hating me. She hated Dad, especially once she'd found out what he'd done. Oh, she got a big house and house-elvesand coming from an impoverished household, that's more than she probably ever expected. But she never was free to be herself. Dad made her stay home all the time–the house elves did the shopping, or he'd order things by owl post. And she got me: a surly child with her husband's big nose and nasty temper."

He shook himself, leaned forward, and looked Hermione in the eye. "I don't want a marriage like that. I don't want our children to grow up like that. I know we haven't exactly married under the most ideal of circumstances, but I want you to promise me that we'll make the best of our relationship."

He reached out and took her hand in his. "Please, say you will try to make this work." There was an expression in his eyes that she'd never seen before. It was hard to tell exactly what emotion she saw there, since she'd become accustomed to seeing only three sides of the man who was now her husband: indifference, disdain, and anger. Was it gentleness–or just concern?

"All right," said Hermione simply. A minute ago, she'd been ready to reply with a crass remark, but something had changed her mind. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd said please, a word that she couldn't recall him ever saying before.

"I'll try to be a decent husband. I know I'll probably fail. I'm sure I'll be a lousy lover, if nothing else," he added miserably.

"Let me be the judge of that," she said, somewhat crossly.

"Don't be afraid to tell me if I'm doing something wrong. I know I'll be wretched compared to your previous lovers"

"Yeah. All zero of them," said Hermione scornfully.

Snape was taken aback. "Oh. You too?" he asked softly.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "How in the world did you last thirty-nine years withoutyou mean you didn't even visit, you know, a house of ill repute?"

The potions professor got up and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. "Hermione, I couldn't. There was just too much at stake. Well, in my Hogwarts years there wasn't, really, but I was afraid of James and Sirius and their pranks. Then, not long after graduation, I became a double agent. You see, I brewed Polyjuice for the first time a few months before I came to Hogwarts, so I knew the potential for abuse"

Hermione sat bolt upright in her chair. "Merlin! Do you mean that someone could have used your sperm"

"It is, technically, a part of me," Snape said in his best teacherly voice. "So you see, I could never be, shall we say, involved with someone unless I trusted them implicitly. Which I never did."

"But you trust me implicitly?"

"No," he smirked. "But I doubt you'd experiment with Polyjuice again."

Hermione frowned. During her second year, Snape had been searching for Madam Pomfrey and had found her–cat face and all–instead. He had deduced the situation immediately and made a rude remark, accompanied by a malicious snicker. After that, he had been in the Hospital Wing almost every day. He'd always had an excuse for seeing the nurse, but his primary reason for being there seemed to be observing (and taunting) Hermione. She'd never told Harry or Ron, of course; the experience had been too humiliating to share.

A hush had settled over the room. Snape was regarding her nervously.

"Hermione," he said in the quiet whisper that had always kept his classes riveted to his every word, "if you feel uncomfortable with consummating the marriage, I will wait."

Hermione leaped to her feet. "Oh, for heaven's sake. The whole bloody point of this marriage is to produce a child. If we don't have intercourse, what's the point of being married?"

He dropped his eyes. "May I proceed then?"

She nodded.

*****

Author's Note: Peggy the house-elf is borrowed shamelessly from pigwidgeon37's wonderful Sybil's Oracle series. I really suck at making up house-elf names!


	8. Wedding Night

****

Chapter Seven

Wedding Night

Snape stepped forward then, so he was standing before her, and kissed her gently on the forehead. His hands reached out tentatively, rested on her hips, and drew her nearer.

For some reason that Hermione couldn't understand (after all, she was definitely not attracted to Professor Snape), her breathing had become fast and shallow. The sudden surge of wetness between her legs made her realize that while Snape wasn't necessarily attractive, he was a man, and he was doing things to her that she'd never experienced before.

His hands, so deft in the potions lab, were tentatively exploring her body for the first time. She'd always imagined that, on her wedding night, she and her bridegroom would be ripping clothes off as soon as they got behind closed doors. Yet now that the occasion was here, she found that things were occurring in a much more leisurely fashion. He hadn't even unbuttoned a single button yet, but was slowly running his hands over every part of her fully-clothed body, as though committing her shape to memory.

It seemed, she thought, as though he were waiting for a signal. She couldn't think of what to say, so she acted instead. Her hands reached out almost of their own accord and began stroking his chest. She'd never realized before how thin he was; he seemed to have chosen his clothes to disguise his slender build.

She pinched his rear playfully and was surprised when he reacted by sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to the bedroom. He set her down gently on her feet, right next to the massive four-poster bed that dominated the room.

His fingers nimbly unfastened the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons that fastened her robes. After slipping off her dress robes, he knelt before her and began lavishing his attentions on her breasts. One of her breasts was cupped in his left hand, while the other received gentle kisses from his mouth. Meanwhile, his right hand was reaching around to unhook her bra.

Somehow, despite the dizzying spiral of pleasure into which she was rapidly sinking, she managed to undo his robes as well. As the black velvet crumpled to the floor, she became vividly aware of the large bulge in his black silk boxers.

Suddenly he rose from his knees, swept her off her feet again, and tossed her lightly onto the bed. Sitting down next to her, he quickly divested her of her knickers. 

As he reached down to remove his own underwear, Hermione looked over his body. He would never be a model for Witch Weekly, it was true, but there was something appealing about the way he was built. She ran her eyes over his slender frame, lightly muscled and covered with fine black hairs. Dropping her eyes below his waist, she took in the sight of his swollen member and found herself filled with an instinctual desire to make love to him.

__

Odd, she thought, _that I can dislike this man so thoroughly and yet be eager to jump him._

Now he was kneeling between her spread legs, lowering himself onto her body. When he positioned himself at her entrance, she moaned in anticipation, wrapping her arms around his naked back. A moment later, she was gasping in pain as he thrust himself eagerly into her virgin territory. Almost immediately, he pulled back, almost leaving her. "Shall I stop? I don't want to hurt you."

The earlier shock of realizing how much she wanted him was nothing compared to the realization that, even though it hurt like hell, she still wanted–no, needed–him to be inside her, filling her.

"No–go on, please. I didn't expect my first time to be all fun and games."

Gingerly he sheathed himself inside her once more, trying to move gently to minimize the pain. After a while, however, it was obvious that pleasure was diminishing his self-control, for his thrusts became more forceful. Looking up into his face, Hermione saw a different man. Gone was the tension, the anger, the rigid control. And when, at last, he reached his climax and collapsed on top of her, gasping with pleasure, she felt a curious sense of power at being able to change him so dramatically.

The Old Snape returned quickly, however. As soon as he regained enough composure to roll off her, he ordered: "Turn on your side, facing away from me."

Curiosity got the better of her and she complied without question.

"Now I expect you to do exactly as I tell you," he said in the commanding whisper she remembered from her school days. "I am going to perform a little experiment. I do not want to hear one word from you telling me how the experiment is going. Instead, while I proceed, we shall have a nice little chat. Is that understood?"

She nodded silently.

"I understand that you are a university student right now?" His arm was slipping around her front, reaching between her legs.

"Yes. I finished my first year at Oxford in June. I'm reading in Charms and Transfiguration both, at least until I decide what I want to specialize in."

"And did you receive satisfactory marks?" His dexterous fingers were exploring her crotch. Just as he finished his question, he found her clit for the first time. She struggled to maintain her composure as she answered. 

"Yes, I wastop of my class."

"How surprising," he remarked dryly. His fingers began making a small circling motion on the sensitive nub. "And have you decided yet which you prefer, Charms or Transfiguration?"

"Nnno!" gasped Hermione. "They're both veryinteresting." The things he was doing to her were very interesting too. She could feel little streamers of electricity radiating outward from her core, down her legs, up towards her arms and head.

"I take it you will be returning to Oxford in a few weeks, then?"

The only response Snape got was "Ahhohhhh!" as he brought his wife over the top.

"Is that a yes?" he smirked.

Hermione, breathing heavily, managed to nod.

"A very successful experiment, then?"

"No wonder you got ninety-some marriage proposals," she finally mumbled.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, that was my first experiment," he said quietly. "I suspect that two years ago people would have been paying me to stay awaybut money and prestige matter quite a bit in the wizarding world, and I have managed to accumulate a fair amount of both in the last year or so."

"Didn't work for me," said Hermione crossly.

"Not surprising," he replied. "Most wizards are intimidated by successful witches."

"Not you, though, I take it?"

"I'm a professor," he said shortly. "I have my fill of uneven relationships. When you have several hundred students who cower before you, you do not search out a wife who will do the same."

"Speaking of students," she said, stifling a yawn, "does term start on the first, as always?"

"Yes. Were you planning to stay around that long?" 

"Didn't mean to," she mumbled sleepily.

"Didn't expect you to," he said quietly. "I have lesson plans to prepare, anyway."

Hermione drifted off into slumber. She didn't realize that her husband lay awake beside her for another hour, gently stroking her body, before he, too, fell asleep.


	9. Letters Again

****

Chapter Eight

Letters Again

2 September 2000

Severus,

Unfortunately it looks like our first attempt at conception was unsuccessful. We'll have to try again.

The Muggle literature I've been reading seems to indicate that ovulation generally occurs fourteen days following the beginning of the menstrual period; conception is most likely if intercourse occurs between days twelve and fourteen of the cycle. What are you doing on the fourteenth and fifteenth? The sixteenth is a Monday, and I have three lectures on that day.

Let me know what works for you.

Hermione

***

3 September 2000

Hermione,

The fourteenth and fifteenth are open for me. Your place or mine?

Severus

***

4 September 2000

Severus,

Since we spent our honeymoon at Hogwarts, how about visiting my cottage this time? Dover is nice in September.

Hermione

***

1 October 2000

Severus,

Seems like another round of trying is in order. This time, optimum days will be in the middle of the week. I think I will visit Hogwarts this time.

Hermione

***

2 October 2000

Hermione,

Shall I expect you on the fifteenth then? I find that spending time with you is infinitely more enjoyable than marking essays.

I shall ask Albus to release me from patrol duty on the fifteenth.

Yours,

Severus

***

31 October 2000

Severus,

Aren't young women supposed to conceive quickly? What is wrong with me? At my checkup the other day the mediwitch said that all my parts were in perfect working order.

Peak conception time is in the middle of the week this time. My place or yours?

Hermione

***

1 November 2000

Dear Hermione,

First of all, I do hope that you are not using a time turner again, as that has been shown to adversely affect conception and pregnancy.

Second, studies have shown that women under stress are much less likely to conceive. Could you cut back the number of classes you are taking? I forget Oxford's policies on dropping classes mid-term.

Attached is an anti-stress potion. Take one tablespoon daily.

I will meet you at your cottage on the fifteenth.

Yours truly,

Severus

***

2 November 2000

Severus,

Took the potion as soon as I received it. Have specially charmed a Remembrall to activate if I forget morning potion dosage.

No, I am not using a time turner. One year of that was enough. Oxford does not allow drops after 15 October (oops!) so I am stuck with these classes until winter break.

See you in two weeks.

H.

***

2 December 2000

Severus,

I'm officially three days late. Whoopee! Due date will be 9 August 2001. (This is, of course, an approximation of the actual date of birth, but I'm sure you already knew that.)

H.

***

5 December 2000

Severus,

Spoke too soon. Period begins just in time for me to have serious cramps during finals week.

H.

***

6 December 2000

Dear Hermione,

Literature indicates that excessive stress can wreak havoc with women's menstrual cycles. Are you taking your anti-stress potion as indicated? You should probably increase the dosage to two tablespoons daily. I have enclosed another vial for your convenience. I have also enclosed anti-cramp potion (purple concoction). Haven't you heard of this before? 

I look forward to Christmas with you at Hogwarts. Let me know the exact day and hour of your arrival, and I will meet you in Hogsmeade.

Yours Truly,

Severus


	10. Christmas Shopping

****

Chapter Nine

Christmas Shopping

Hermione tossed her book bag on the floor with a thud and yelled at the top of her voice: "I'm DONE!" Kicking off her shoes, she twirled around giddily, then retreated to the kitchen to grab a pint of Haagen-Dazs.

She plopped down on the couch with a spoon in one hand and the container of ice cream. "I swear, Crooks," she said to her ginger-haired familiar, who was curled upon the cushion next to hers, "I will not touch a book for another week!"

"That'll be a first!" Ginny Malfoy's head had appeared in the fireplace.

Hermione jumped, then got a hold of herself. "Ginny! Long time no see!"

"Much too long, if you ask me. I've tried catching you before, but you never seem to be home. Term's over now, isn't it?"

"Finally, yes."

"Want to go Christmas shopping with me? We can pick out our presents for Zinnia together"

"Who?!"

"Zinnia. Ron's daughter. Hadn't you heard?"

Hermione frowned. "Pig did come by with a letter one time, but Crookshanks ran off with it before I could read itI was in the middle of an essay and I thought I would just find it later, but I guess I was too busy. And then I just forgot about it. Oh, I am such an idiot! Now I need to buy a birth gift and a Christmas present, both. Yes, I'll come with you."

"Great!" Ginny was beaming. "I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at noon. We can have lunch and talk before we go out shopping." Her head disappeared from the grate with a pop and Hermione was left alone with Crookshanks.

She buried her face in her hands in sudden realization. The Leaky Cauldron–at noon. Just like the time she met Severus. She'd never told Ginny about that, or about anything else after that. Her parents, Albus Dumbledore, and Minerva McGonagall were the only people who knew about her husband. Thoughts of telling her friends flitted through her head, and she groaned. 

Then she sat up straight and attacked her ice cream eagerly. _When in doubt, drown your woes in chocolate,_ she thought.

The next day she apparated to the Leaky Cauldron at 11:59, just as before. Unlike Snape, Ginny was not known for her punctuality; Hermione spent several anxious minutes pacing back and forth in the foyer, thinking about how Ginny might react to her news. 

Surely Ginny, who was now a Malfoy, thought highly of Snape? But then again, she had spent seven years in his classroom being intimidated; she'd graduated from Hogwarts less than six months ago. If she made rude remarks (as her brother was sure to when he heard the news), was it best to ignore her or fight back? Hermione had always defended Snape in front of Ron, but she wasn't sure that was the wisest course of action when dealing with Ginny.

Hermione still hadn't decided what she was going to do (or how to break the news, for that matter) when Ginny bounced in through the front door–in far too cheery a mood for Hermione's tastes. Unfortunately, the first words out of the redhead's mouth were, "Wow, you're looking good, Hermione. Did you meet a man at university or something?"

Hermione flushed. She had really not meant this topic to come up so soon.

"Wellactually not at university."

Ginny reached down and grabbed Hermione's left hand. "Ooh, Hermione! You're married! When did this happen? And why all the secrecy? This is a neat ring."

Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat.

"Well, let's sit down and have lunch, then," said Ginny, practically. Then, as they walked to an empty table she added, "I can't wait to see Harry's face when we tell him!"

"We?" said Hermione weakly. (She had decided the previous night that Ron and Harry should be told by owl post. Explosions were easier to handle long distance.)

"Sure," said Ginny brightly. "I promised I'd meet him at three today to help pick out a present for Luna. You do know about him and Luna, right?"

If Hermione had received an invitation to the wedding, she hadn't noticed. She had, however, seen the news blazed across the front of the Daily Prophet. She nodded mutely and hid herself behind her menu.

"So, Hermione, tell me all about Mystery Man. Is it someone I know?"

Hermione nodded again but didn't lower her menu.

"Someone I met at Hogwarts?"

This question was met, again, by a silent nod. Hermione hoped that Ginny could see her hair nodding but not her face (which was crimson). What, oh what, had she been thinking, marrying that man? Oh, he was intelligent enough; they'd had some pretty interesting conversations on politics, potions, and philosophy in between "tries" (as she euphemistically thought of those occasions). And his, er, technique was definitely improving. On the other hand, he was a socially inept recluse who terrorized children for fun.

Her menu disappeared. Tom had taken it–he wanted her order. She had been holding the menu earlier, but she hadn't really looked at it. Flustered, she ordered stew again. 

When he was gone, Ginny picked up her interrogation again. "Your year or not?"

"Not."

"Older than you or younger?"

"Older," said Hermione resignedly. She glanced around the table, looking for something to hide behind.

"Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?"

"Neither." _Oh, kill me now,_ thought Hermione.

"Ooh, a Hufflepuff then. Oh, wait" Ginny's gaze had fallen on her ring, platinum with emeralds. It was a Snape family heirloom; Severus's father and grandfather had both been Slytherins too. "Hermione, I can't believe it! A Slytherin! We're more alike than I thought! Okay, let me think now. Which of the Slytherins doesn't look like a gorilla? Not Draco, of course, he's already mine" She started mumbling under her breath. 

Hermione scowled and gulped down her stew.

After a few minutes, Ginny looked up from her steak. "Hermione, I just can't think of who it might be. Give me a hint. Blond or brunette?"

"Black hair." Hermione's voice was shaking.

Ginny scratched her head. "Blaise is dead–and he was on the other side anyway. Flint is in Azkaban–I just can't think who else has–" She stopped suddenly, and Hermione knew she'd pieced the puzzle together. "Just how much older are we talking, girl?"

Hermione found that she couldn't answer that question, but the choking noise she emitted spoke volumes.

Ginny rubbed her eyes. "Please tell me this is all some sort of nightmare. It's not Snape, is it?"

Again, Hermione said nothing. 

"What on earth possessed you to marry that creep?" said Ginny. "Are you a sadist? Or were you dying to have children that look like vampires? You must be crazy!" 

Hermione reeled. She'd been afraid that something like this would happen; she'd spent most of last night obsessing over ways this conversation could go. In the end, she'd decided that the most logical course of action would be for Ginny to accept her relationship with Snape. Too bad Ginny didn't act logically.

What should she do now? She'd never decided which course of action to follow if things should go amiss. And so she acted purely out of instinct. She stood up and snapped, "Yes, I am mad. Absolutely starkers. Good-bye." And she stalked out of the pub and off to Diagon Alley. 

__

What is with her? _She, of all people, should be tolerant of unusual marriage partners,_ thought Hermione huffily, as she pushed her way through the throngs of Christmas shoppers. _So I married a foul-tempered bat–big deal. She married a ferret who insulted me non-stop for six years and she still expected me to give her a wedding gift!_

Four hours later she was still searching for an outfit for little Zinnia. At first she had procrastinated the dreaded task by searching for a present for Severus. He'd been complaining about the state of his dragonhide gloves, so she'd bought him a new, top-quality pair.

Then she spent quite a while flipping through the baby clothes without actually looking at them, wondering if she would ever need to buy any baby clothes herself. When she finally gathered her wits about her, she felt lost. 

Without Ginny's guidance, she had no way of knowing what colors to pick out. Ron had red hair and pale skin; Millie, dark hair and olive skin. What sort of coloring would their daughter have inherited? She was wavering back and forth between a pastel pink (for Ron's coloring) and a vivid purple (for Millie's coloring) when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

It was Harry. "Hey, Hermy," he said softly. After fifth year, it had become his private nickname for her; he never used it in front of anyone else.

"Harry," she said weakly, dreading the confrontation to come.

"Ginny told me about what happened earlier. And I wanted to saythat I think you made a good choice. Not that you would have caught me saying that three years agobut after all the work we had to do together during the War, I discovered that he is a decent person, deep down. Not always nice, but honorable and dedicated. He just buries the good stuff behind that snarky act."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Actually the snarkiness goes all the way down to the core. But after the things he's been through, I can't blame him. And he is trying to be nice."

"The operative word being trying', I suppose?" said Harry with a wink.

For the first time in twenty-four hours, Hermione grinned. "Of course," she said with a sigh of relief. 

Harry's face darkened. "You could have told me, you know," he said. "I wouldn't have killed you."

"I didn't know that," she said, feeling the tears coming to her eyes. "I had these terrible visions of you and Ron choking me to death while telling me how stupid I was"

"Hermy," said Harry seriously, "C'mon. We're friends, right? You know I would never do something like that to you, don't you?"

"Well, sure, now I do," said Hermione harshly.

"I understand why you worry about Ron, though. If only Ginny hadn't found out first, Luna and I could have worked out some way to break the news gently."

"Oh, I know, I really made a mess of things. But I'm socially inept; what do you expect? If I was good with relationships maybe I wouldn't have had to go husband hunting," she sniffed.

"Relax, Hermione. Forget about it. I forgive you. Let's move on."

She paused, taking deep breaths, trying to regain control of herself. "All right, then, can we change the topic of coversation? Does Zinnia has dark hair or red? I'm trying to choose between these." She waved the outfits in his general direction.

"Oh, Hermione," said Harry with exasperation. "She's swimming in clothes. Most hand-knitted by Molly, of course. Get her a toy. Or better yet, a book."

"Now, why didn't I think of that before?" muttered Hermione. "Very Hungry Caterpillar, here I come!"


	11. Welcome Back

****

Chapter Ten

Welcome Back

Hermione was still lost in thought as she packed her bags for her Christmas holiday at Hogwarts. Her conversation with Harry, though positive in tone, had disturbed her in a way she couldn't quite understand.

She replayed the conversation in her mind over and over, trying to pinpoint the problem, as she folded her blouses and placed them neatly in the suitcase

"Is he a good kisser, then?" Harry had asked genially.

She'd shrugged.

"Not much basis for comparison, huh?" Harry said. "I understand. For me, there was only Cho, who was too weepy, and you—too gross—don't take it personally, of course."

She had nodded, not in the least offended. Her own take on that kiss had been that it was weird or wrong or something.

"But Luna—well, wow! And she had no experience either." He'd started raving then about how wonderful Luna was and had gone on to mention that she was already expecting.

Originally she thought she'd been upset that Luna had conceived right away. But now she realized, as she began packing her skirts, that what had really set her off, subconsciously, was the conversation about kissing.

She'd never actually kissed her husband, except on her wedding day. He'd kissed her plenty—on the cheek, the top of her head, and—well—in lots of more sensitive places. She never kissed him, never even touched him unless she had to. Mouth-to-mouth kisses just weren't an occurrence in their marriage.

This train of thought led her to realize that she never really even addressed him by his first name. She hadn't called him "Professor" since their honeymoon—he'd objected to that—so she now referred to him as "Mr. Snape" or simply "sir". His first name, Severus, was reserved for letter writing.

She had a husband now; that was it. Harry had not just a wife, but a lover. Why couldn't she have been so lucky?

She slammed the suitcase shut in disgust. "Well, Severus, here I come. I hope you're ready for me."

A minute later she was in Hogsmeade, standing in front of the Three Broomsticks. Snape (_no, not Snape, Severus!_ she thought) was waiting for her with an extra woolen cloak, which he quickly draped over her shoulders. "I didn't think you'd be dressed appropriately for the weather," he said gruffly. "It's been rather arctic here today."

They talked about her classes and exams as they trudged through the knee-high snow. She had particularly enjoyed Transfiguration that term.

"Are you certain that you want to continue at the university?" he asked as they passed through the Hogwarts gates.

"If I wanted to stay at home and do nothing, I would have married Harry," she said bluntly.

Snape scowled at her. "Hermione, you are thinking like a Muggle."

"Is there something wrong with that?"

"The university is a relatively new development in the wizarding world. Apprenticeship is still a viable method of advancing your career. Some older wizards consider it the only real' method of further education."

"So, is your work piling up on you then? Is that why you want me as an apprentice? You know, I'd rather not specialize in potions," she snapped.

He opened the large front door for her and they stepped into the warmth of the entrance hall.

"I don't think apprenticing with me would be a good idea in any case," he said seriously. "Most people would think that I'd let you off easy since you were my wife. And besides," he added, moving closer to her, "I don't think I'd get much work done if I were always with you." 

Hermione flushed. "Okay. But if not you, then who?"

"Minerva has a bad case of morning sickness," he said as they descended the stairs to the dungeons. "Albus was speaking of hiring another teacher to teach the younger Transfiguration students. An apprentice would fill the need nicely. She always thought very highly of you, you know."

"Hmmm. I'll consider it. How soon would she need to know?"

He muttered the password to their chambers, then looked up and shrugged. "Maybe before the start of next term? I don't know. After you, Mrs. Snape."

Hermione stepped into the sitting room and collapsed on the couch. "It's not fair!" she said grumpily. "Even McGonagall got pregnant before me. I could have sworn she was menopausal, but no! She's pregnant!"

"Witches age slower than Muggles, Hermone." Snape had lapsed back into his lecture voice. "The median age for menopause in witches is seventy-one. Minerva is seventy. She's actually been in perimenopause for a while now—I should know, seeing as I've been making anti-hot-flash potions for her. But she hasn't lost her fertility completely." He fixed Hermione with a serious gaze and deadpanned, "Evidently, neither has Albus." 

"Oh, that is disgusting. Please don't make me think about that again!" Hermione shook her head. "I still don't understand why it is that she's pregnant at seventy, but I'm not, even though I'm fifty years younger than her!"

"You are under a lot of stress. And in other ways your situation is quite different." 

"Severus, I hate to say this, but, well, are you sure it isn't you who's the problem?"

"Actually, I did consider that," he said uncomfortably. "I went to Madam Pomfrey and had her run a few tests." 

Hermione looked up at his face in shock. She had never seen him embarrassed before. "And?" she said impatiently.

"And there's nothing wrong with my sperm, evidently. Quantity and quality are satisfactory." His face was beet-red by this point.

"Oh," said Hermione wanly. "Well, I just don't get it then. I'm fine, you're fine, I'm taking the stupid anti-stress potion. What's wrong?"

Severus sighed. "Well, I ran across an article a while back. I was hoping I wouldn't have to show it to you, and besides, it was pretty much impossible at that point, but"

"Just show me the bloody thing!" snapped Hermione impatiently.

"Yes, dear," he said resignedly. "Just promise you won't get mad at me, okay?"

Hermione snorted in response. She stood there, tapping her foot, while he dug through his desk drawers. At last he pulled out a Muggle scientific journal, turned to a bookmarked page, and thrust it into her hands. "Read."

She looked at the title. "What is this, the April Fool's edition?" After scanning the rest of the article, however, she was forced to deduce that the authors were not kidding. Studies had proven that people who had intercourse daily were more likely to conceive than those with a less-active sex life. The science behind the conclusion seemed logical: frequent exposure to the male's DNA kept the woman's body from rejecting the fetus as foreign material'. But still, she was somewhat disturbed by the article. "Are you suggesting that we need to shag like wild bunnies?"

He scowled at her. "I'm not sure I would have put it so crudely, but yes, that is what I propose. Do you have a problem with that, Mrs. Snape?"

"I can live with it," she sighed, and allowed him to lead her to the bedroom.


	12. Holiday Greetings

****

Chapter Eleven

Holiday Greetings

The next morning, Hermione ate breakfast in the Great Hall. The Staff Table had been expanded since her Hogwarts days–it was now large enough to accommodate the spouses of the younger staff members. It seemed rather odd to pass by the Gryffindor table and sit at the top of the Hall (even though, as was customary during the Christmas holidays, the few remaining students were sitting with the teachers.)

She had little time to ponder her new seating arrangements though; within a few minutes, she was deluged by owls. Evidently, Ginny had been gossiping up a storm. The first few letters were pleasantly neutral; sadly, that was not true of all the missives Hermione read.

**

Hermione,

Congratulations on your marriage.

Dean Thomas

**

Hermione,

You know, I used to consider you intelligent! Did Voldemort suck out all your brains? You could have had a much better catch.

Lavender Brown Finnegan

P.S. from Seamus: I hear your university grades are quite good, so, unlike my wife, I assume you're still in possession of your marbles. However, I'm inclined to wonder if you've been experimenting with some of those hallucinogens that we learned about in Muggle Studies?

**

Girl, what are you doing, getting married without telling me and Padma? We would have loved to do your hair and makeup for your wedding day!

Parvati

**

Hermione,

I am glad that you married that bastard, Snape. I consider it Fate paying you back for what you did to me.

Marietta Edgecombe

**

[The following letter was written partly in Ron's scrawl, with portions crossed out (_denoted by italics) _and rewritten in Millie's flowery script (**denoted by bold**).]

Hermione,

__

Would you be offended if I told you that you really screwed up in your choice of husband? Because you did. **We think you made a fine choice, dear**. You do know that Snape is going to _torture_ **support** you for the rest of your life, don't you? He's a real _asshole_ **sweetheart,** you know!

Well, you made your bed, you'll have to lie in it now (though I'm not sure I want to think about that in regards to Snape).

Your friend,

Ron Weasley

****

P.S. Please excuse my husband's temper. He has been cranky ever since Zinnia developed colic. Millie.

**

Hermione,

No doubt everyone is screeching their discontent at you right now. I hardly blame you for keeping silent.

Don't get me wrong; I still think Snape is a greasy git. (Want to buy some of WWW's hair improvement' potions?) 

But I know he's not all bad. During our final year, he overheard me and George talking about getting rid of Umbridge. The next day he accidentally' dropped the password to his private lab in my bag. Without him, our portable swamp would never have emerged from the primordial slime.

Give him a Canary Cream for me, will you?

Fred

**

Hermione,

Sorry I snapped at you yesterday. That was rather uncalled for, wasn't it? Draco keeps telling me that these damn pregnancy hormones are making me unbalanced. I think I'm finally convinced that he's right.

Belated congratulations. Hopefully we can meet again soon under better terms!

Ginny

**

Dear Hermione (and Severus),

Congratulations on your wedding.

Ginny and I have not had an opportunity to have a good talk with either of you for a while. Please come to our New Year's Eve Party so we can chat again. Send an owl if you wish to R.S.V.P.

Yours,

Draco

**

As Hermione opened yet another envelope, her husband inquired quietly, "Opening a mail-order business, are we?"

"Erno," she replied, blushing. "Justbelated wedding congratulations is all."

"Didn't tell anyone either, did you?"

"It seemed simpler at the time."

"Understood." Snape was looking down the table to where Charlie and Bill Weasley were whispering together. Hermione scanned the other professors and saw a look of shock on most of their faces–even little Professor Flitwick was sneaking furtive, astonished glances in her direction. 

She realized suddenly that she'd never really left Snape's quarters during the times that she'd visited before. Her marriage had not been a public affair, and she'd liked it that way. Evidently, Minerva and Albus had announced their own marriage to the staff but not said a word about hers. _Maybe they've just had other things on their mind, _she thought, watching the pair cuddling together. 

Professor McGonagall was breakfasting on dry toast and ginger tea today. The sight reminded Hermione of morning sickness, which reminded her of the need for a Transfiguration assistant. _Oh joy,_ she thought_. The things I get to think about at breakfast._

Should she give up her life-long goal of a university degree? It was an ambition she'd had since she was in primary school, a decision she'd made before she'd known anything about the magical world. She'd been crushed, during her first year, to discover that there were no wizarding universities in England–and then, miraculously, during her fourth year, pilot university programs for witches and wizards were begun in Oxford and Cambridge. She'd been so ecstatic that she could get a doctorate instead of having to do an apprenticeship. 

Logically speaking, she knew that an apprenticeship was still a reasonable option. And yet, the dream of having a degree seemed too hard to let go of. During the war, she'd suffered from both stress and depression; often, the only thing that had kept her going was the thought that if she failed, she'd never be able to attend university. Could she now, in time of peace, let go of her last lifeline?

She shot a glance at the man sitting next to her–her husband. Was she really willing to live with him full time? He was reasonably good company on an occasional basis; however, she knew from her friends' experiences that such relationships did not always work out when people lived together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

Nonetheless, when the babies came–if they ever came–it would be much easier to arrange child care if they were living in the same place. Perhaps, if things didn't work out, Dumbledore could arrange for separate living quarters

Hermione felt a gentle touch on her elbow. It was her husband. "Anyone in there?" he whispered.

"Mmm–sorry. I was just debating whether or not to talk to Minerva today."

"If the answer is yes, we may want to remove ourselves from prying eyes right now; I think we may be able to just catch her."

Looking up, Hermione caught the sight of McGonagall disappearing through the double doors into the entrance hall. "Ummmgood idea," she said, frantically trying to gather up the letters that were piled on the table in front of her.

"I'll get those– you just go ahead, I'll catch up later."

"Thanks." She fled gratefully from the hall, trying to ignore the stares and whispers, leaving her husband to the mundane task of collecting the piles of post that were cascading off the table.

Two hours later, she returned to the dungeons with a bounce in her step. Minerva had been excited to take her on as an apprentice. She had her signed apprenticeship papers in hand as well as a teaching schedule. She had enjoyed the morning so much that she'd forgotten what had happened at breakfast.

When she opened the door to her quarters, however, it all came flooding back. Her husband was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by three large stacks of letters. He had a quill and parchment before him and was in the process of scribbling something down.

"You're back. Good. I've just finished."

"Finished what?" asked Hermione, bewilderedly.

"Sorting," Severus replied. "These," he continued, gesturing at the pile to his left, "contain letters of a rude nature. I have written the names of the senders on this list. You may wish to avoid these people in the future. The center pile contains letters that can best be described as neutral. These require only a short note of acknowledgement; the names are on another list, so you won't need to actually read the letters. And this stack," he said, patting the meager pile on his right, "contains notes of sincere congratulations. We should respond to these personally."

"You read my mail?!" 

"Actually, as these notes all concerned marriage congratulations– or sympathies, as the case may be–I didn't think there was anything amiss in sorting them for you. Several of them were actually addressed to both of us."

"Oh," said Hermione weakly. "Well, I guess I really wasn't looking forward to reading them anyway. So thank you. That must have been a lot of work."

"It was. Do I get payment?"

"What sort ofpayment did you have in mind?" she asked, though she had a pretty good idea of the answer.

He looked at her seriously. "They say that making love in front of a fire is especially romantic."

"I guess we could find out."

Her husband lit the fire with a flick of his wand and then, to her amazement, banished the stacks of rude and neutral letters to the fireplace. "That should provide plenty of illumination," he said as he extinguished the other lights.

Before she knew it, they were both undressed. _Did he do it by magic, or am I still so much in shock from the events of today that I didn't notice him undressing me?_ thought Hermione as her husband gently lowered her onto the hearthrug.

He was kissing her–gently at first, then passionately, eagerly. And for the first time in her marriage, Hermione found herself responding in kind. He took his time enjoying her body; how different from the cursory lovemaking they'd shared since the beginning of the school year! When, at last, he entered her, she looked into his eyes and felt that he had given her not just his body, but his soul. 

It didn't take him long to reach orgasm; Hermione was feeling just the beginnings of pleasure when she felt him exploding inside her. Yet despite her lack of climax, she felt oddly connected with him.

Later that night, however, as she lay curled up in bed with her back to her husband, she wondered if she had been imagining the bond between him. For, afterwards, he had immediately gone back to being his brusque, withdrawn self. No, it had just been her imagination, she decided. Severus Snape would never open up his true self to another.

__

He's just manipulating me, thought Hermione as she drifted off to sleep.


	13. The Turn of the Year

****

Chapter Twelve

The Turn of the Year

The next days settled into a familiar pattern for Hermione: wake up, make love, eat breakfast, go to library to work on lesson plans, eat lunch, work on lesson plans more, eat dinner, chat with Severus until bed time, go to sleep.

She had thought, at first, that she would have ample time to outline her plans for working with the first through third-year students before the start of term. However, the time seemed to fly by more quickly than she had anticipated. It didn't help that she had to take a whole day off for Christmas. (She spent the morning with the Hogwarts staff and the evening with Severus at her parents' house, leaving her no time for work at all.)

By the time she finished laying out the lesson plans for the winter term, it was already New Years' Eve. Only four days remained until the students would arrive, and she hadn't even started on lesson plans for after Easter.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the silky voice behind her whispered, "Time to get ready."

"I'm trying to get ready!" she snapped. "But I'm just starting plans for the spring term. How on earth will I finish before they get here?"

There was a muffled snort from behind her as her husband tried to suppress a snicker. "I am talking about the Malfoys' New Year's Eve Party, not your lessons."

Hermione slapped her forehead in frustration. "I'd totally forgotten about that. Did we even RSVP?"

"You gave your consent for me to do so," he replied curtly. "Don't you remember?'

"No. Not really," she sighed. "I haven't really thought of it since Draco's letter. If I had, I'm sure I would have bought something suitable to wear."

Severus strode over to the wardrobe and flung it open. Rummaging through the clothes on Hermione's side, he pulled out a set of deep red dress robes and tossed it at her. Wear this. I'm sure you'll look lovely."

She struggled out of her T-shirt and jeans, flustered, and slipped the dress on. "I can't wear this," she wailed, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

"Why ever not?" asked Severus. "It flatters your figure very well."

She whirled around, enraged. "My mother taught me to choose your clothes carefully, because everything you wear makes a statement to those around you. Do you know what message this robe sends to people?"

"Hmmm," smirked her husband. "How about, I am a woman with a lot of class and a great body'?" 

"Good grief," she responded sourly. "The men may get that message–but what the women will hear is, I'm still not pregnant yet.'"

"Oh," he said soberly. "Well, then." He flicked his wand and muttered a spell; Hermione's dress loosened and the dropped waist turned into an empire waistline. "Now you look like you might be a little bit pregnant."

"Hmmph," she said shortly. But she had to agree that it almost looked like a maternity dress.

An hour later, Hermione and Severus apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor. Like Hogwarts, the manor had anti-apparition wards on the grounds; guests were obliged to appear in the lane outside. 

Hermione had always thought the whole situation a bit odd; the owner seemed eager to keep them from entering directly, yet the gates swung open automatically at their approach. When she pointed this out to Severus, he replied, "The gates are manned by a house-elf. He only lets people in if the master has approved it in advance."

As they passed through the gates, Hermione peered around, looking for the house-elf. Her husband said, "The mark of a good house-elf is that he's never seen, you know."

"I see Peggy all the time, and she's a good house-elf."

"I specifically asked her to be visible when I bought her. Invisible servants wereshall we say, unnerving to me, especially when I was doing work for the Dark Lord."

After glancing around in a last effort to spot the unfortunate elf, Hermione drew her cloak more tightly around her. "Well, I sure hope the poor thing knows warming charms–it's freezing out here."

The Malfoys' party was not a gala or ball, as Hermione had expected, but rather a small and formal dinner party. Harry and Luna were still in the entrance hall, brushing snow off of their clothes. (Luna still didn't look pregnant–but then she wasn't that far along, thought Hermione.) Ginny rushed up to greet them. Thankfully she, too, still looked rather thin; Hermione didn't want to feel like the only flat-stomached woman in the bunch.

"I heard that you're apprenticing with McGonagall now," said Harry, as Ginny led the way towards the dining hall. 

"Mmm hmmm," muttered Hermione. She was not paying much attention to him because she wanted to eavesdrop on what Luna was saying to her husband.

"Any plans to become an Animagus like Minerva?" Harry was asking. 

"Errrno." (In the background, Hermione heard Luna say, "I hope you're kinder to Hermione now that she's not your student. I expect you are, though.")

"And which classes does she have you teaching, then?"

"First through third years only." Hermione was rather miffed that she couldn't hear Severus's reply to Luna. She had to bite her tongue when she heard what Mrs. Potter said next: "Well, I do suppose you are better-tempered now that you are having sex on a regular basis."

Harry's face turned bright red. "Luna, dear," he said quickly, catching her by the arm, "I think that Padma's in the drawing room. She was asking about you the other day" He swept her off through a side door; as he exited, he glanced back at Hermione and Severus and shrugged apologetically.

Padma was not in the drawing room; she was in the dining room with her sister and their husbands. The girls', as Hermione still thought of them, both looked rather unwieldy with their bulging tummies. She wondered how much longer they had to go–both looked as though they were about to pop.

Parvati stiffened somewhat when she saw Severus, but turned her attention to Hermione. "Long time no see, sister," she said happily. "Did you hear? I'm having twins."

"Me too," added Padma, running her hands over her abdomen. 

Hermione looked from one to another and then at Fred and George, who were beaming proudly. "Errrgreat," she said flatly. "When are you due?"

"End of April," said Fred eagerly.

"Though twins often come sooner," added George.

"They'd better," moaned Parvati, rubbing her back.

Hermione felt the Weasleys' eyes turn from her to her husband.

Severus, seeing everyone's attention on him, cleared his throat, before announcing in his classroom voice, "I certainly hope that they are all girls. If notI fear for the safety of my potions lab."

The occupants of the room burst into laughter; the subtle tension that had come into being when Severus first entered the room snapped suddenly. Fred and George immediately cornered the potions master to talk shop; the majority of the women began discussing pregnancies; and Hermione was left, once again, to talk to Harry.

"How's the mansion?" she asked, after a painful silence.

"Coming along," he said, rubbing his hands together. "The exterior work is all done. The interiorwill take a while, I guess. Luna has visions' for each of the rooms."

"Let me guess. Crumple-horned Snorkack heads mounted on plaques?"

Harry fixed her with a serious look. "Oh no. They're on the verge of extinction, you see; we shouldn't kill any."

Hermione was trying to decide whether to take Harry seriously or not when the corners of his mouth started twitching. They both burst into laughter, causing everyone else to turn and look at them. Luckily, their embarrassment was short-lived; Draco appeared in the doorway, announcing that dinner was about to be served.

After chatter on a variety of topics, the conversation at dinner turned to life at Hogwarts. Harry, in particular, was rather keen to hear how Albus and Minerva were dealing with becoming parents.

"Well," said Severus with a look of irritation, "they've taken to calling their baby-to-be Little Lion'."

Draco rolled his eyes and muttered, "Gryffindors!" while the others chuckled.

"It gets worse," Hermione said.

"Oh?" said her husband. "I hadn't heard this."

"No–Minerva just told me yesterday. They've already picked out names and both have something to do with lions."

Across the table, Ginny batted her eyelashes and piped up in a falsetto, "Allow me to introduce myself–Lyonessa Dumbledore at your service." The twins roared with laughter and even Padma and Parvati laughed so hard that they ended up with cramps in their already squeezed ribs.

The conversation for the next hour revolved around baby names: traditional versus non-traditional; family names versus unused names; names already in use versus invented names. Hermione was rather surprised to hear that Fred and George were in favor of traditional names, while Ginny was in favor of invented names; she would have guessed it to be the other way around.

Eventually, midnight approached. Champagne was poured and toasts were made; couples kissed as the clock struck twelve. Then, finally, it was time to go home. They'd had a good time, but they were all exhausted.

Hermione trudged out the door, following her husband. As she stepped into the entrance hall, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Luna.

"He loves you, you know," she said mistily. "He worships you. Why don't you love him?" 

"I can't make myself love him," said Hermione resentfully.

"You can. You just haven't chosen to love him." And then Luna was gone.

As Hermione turned to find her husband, she decided that her initial assessment of Luna had been right. She was crazy, after all. 

***

The next morning Hermione was shaken awake by her husband. "Hermione! Wake up! You're talking in your sleep."

"Was I?" she mumbled groggily, as she tried vainly to remember what she had been dreaming about.

Severus scowled at her. "I told you that you were working too hard. You were saying something about must finish lessons'."

"That's odd," she remarked, as bits and pieces of her dream came back to her. "My dream had nothing to do with lessons at all– I was with my parents at the sea side."

"Nonetheless, it's clear that your subconscious mind has been overwhelmed with thoughts of lesson plans. I think you should take a day off today and relax. Think of it as releasing tension so that you can be a more effective teacher."

Hermione thought she knew what he meant by "relax"–there was only one activity he usually referred to that way. She was wrong. 

Severus summoned Peggy and whispered a command to her; the elf disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Then he turned to his wife, undressed her completely, lifted her up, and carried her towards the sound of running water.

The tub had been magically expanded and was full of warm water, bubbles, and a rather fragrant aroma which reminded Hermione of a formal garden in full bloom. Severus lowered her into the bath before stripping off his own clothes and joining her.

"Face the wall," he commanded. She turned around, expecting him to enter her from behind, and was surprised when he began, instead, to massage her shoulders and then her back. His hands kneaded her muscles, working their way down her arms, then along her legs.

By the time he reached her toes she assumed he was ready to jump her. His aroused cock was pressing against her back, and, considering all the contact they'd had in the last hour, she could hardly blame him for being eager.

Instead, he pulled her against him and began touching her in her most sensitive area. It was something he hadn't done since their wedding night; she'd never asked him to, as she'd been more interested in conception than pleasure. 

Even though Hermione had thoughts of creating a baby still hovering somewhere in the back of her mind, he brought her quickly to orgasm, just as he had the first time. When she reached her peak and cried out in pleasure, he hugged her body against his tightly and kissed the top of her head.

"There, that was much better than lesson plans, wasn't it?" he asked in the silky voice that she loved so much. "Shall we go and have breakfast now?"

"Severus, don't you want to make love to me?"

"I just did. But to answer the question I think you were asking, today is just for you."

"But–shouldn't we try, anyway?"

"Hermione, when is your period due to start?"

"Two days from now, I think."

"Then chances are pretty good that having sex today won't increase our odds of conception. Just lie back and relax." Having said that, he slipped his right arm over her body, seeking out her clit again. As he began touching her gently with his right hand, making circles on her sensitive nub, his left hand moved around and under her leg. Then she felt the fingers of that hand slipping inside her body, stroking, plunging deeply into her

Hermione gave up all thoughts of becoming pregnant and lost herself once again in the vortex of pleasure.

Afterwards Severus dried her off, dressed her gently, and brought her breakfast in bed. He also gave her some reading material–The Scarlet Pimpernel, one of her childhood favorites. She was surprised that he'd remembered how much she'd liked that book. After she pushed aside her breakfast tray, she picked up the novel but found herself too lost in thought to read it.

__

Luna was right. He does love me. _Perhaps he never learned to express his love verbally,_ she mused as she sipped her tea. _I doubt he ever heard loving words growing up, after all. But in any case, he certainly acts like he loves me._

She regretted, for a few minutes, that she did not love him in return. She enjoyed his company. She admired his intelligence, his skill as a potion-maker. But she did not love him. 

Then it struck her. Maybe she couldn't feel the warm fuzzy feelings she used to feel for boys of her acquaintance. Maybe that sort of relationship would always elude her. But Severus was good to her; she could be good to him. She had promised him as much on her wedding day. Back then, she hadn't really understood what, exactly, she had given her assent to. Now she realized what he had meant by "making it work".

Yes–she could be good to him, even when he was annoying. She'd done as much for Harry and Ron during her school days. _How's that for a New Year's Resolution?_ she thought. _Be nice to my husband. What a novel idea._

For some reason, she wasn't upset when her period started two days later.


	14. Results

Chapter Thirteen  
  
Results  
  
January seemed to pass at a crawl. Hermione settled into her routine of teaching, attending meetings, and grading essays quickly. She spent her spare time doing research on a transfiguration thesis, despite her husband's admonishment not to overexert herself. "I'm not happy unless I'm busy," she'd snap whenever he told her to take it easy.  
  
On the last Friday in January, Hermione was sitting on one end of the sofa, immersed in a book, while her husband sat at the other end grading the seventh-year students' work. Suddenly he stood up, threw his quill on the floor, and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.  
  
Hermione knew from experience that he never did this unless something was weighing heavily on his mind. "Severus, what's bothering you?"  
  
"I'm tired of waiting," he snarled. "Don't you get tired of waiting to find out? There must be some way to tell if you're pregnant without waiting for your period to start. Or not to start. You know what I mean!"  
  
"Some Muggle pregnancy tests claim to be able to tell a day or two before your period is due to start."  
  
"But surely, magic should be able to test for the presence of a successful conception earlier than that."  
  
"I don't know. Magic is actually lagging pretty far behind Muggle technology in this area. I mean, witches can't even find out the gender of their child until it's born, can they? But Muggles have been able to do that for years. My Mum knew with me."  
  
Severus stopped in mid-pace. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it before?" Striding over to one of the bookshelves, he reached up and removed a thin red book from the top shelf. He flipped through the dusty pages while Hermione tried to make out the title. The characters were some sort of Oriental language-Japanese? Chinese? Cambodian?  
  
At last he took out his wand, waved it over her abdomen, and pronounced an incantation in a language she didn't understand. Immediately a glowing red pictograph appeared over her, rotating slowly in the air. Severus looked at it carefully, consulted the book, and then looked at it once more. Then he drew himself up to his full height, and-to her utter shock, grinned. "Congratulations," he announced.  
  
Hermione's jaw dropped. "You're kidding me. I'm not even late. How can you tell?"  
  
He smirked at her. "The spell actually wasn't designed to indicate the presence of pregnancy; that's just a side effect. It was developed to indicate the gender of an in-utero child. It's a boy, by the way."  
  
"Amazing. I wonder why I've never heard of it?"  
  
"Because most British wizards don't read Chinese. And there are few surviving books that teach the spell, seeing as it's an Unforgivable in China."  
  
She stared at him. "You're putting me on, right?"  
  
He shook his head seriously. "For camouflage reasons, most Chinese wizards abide by the Muggle government's decision to limit families to one child. Even among Muggles, girls are considered undesirable-often they're given to orphanages or left out to die. Imagine how much worse the situation would be among wizards, who could discover the gender of their child in the first month of pregnancy."  
  
"Oh," said Hermione dumbly. After a long silence she added, "Well, it looks like the Snape line isn't going to die out, then."  
  
"I wish it would," said Severus quietly. "I was hoping that all the stupid traditions that were carried on in my line for generations would disappear completely. Girls often end up adopting the traditions of the men they marry, and I was hoping that by having only girls.Well, never mind. Besides," he added softly, running his fingers through his wife's curls, "I was hoping for a little girl. One who would be just like you."  
  
"One of me isn't enough?" frowned Hermione. "I don't think I could stand to be around another of me, thank you very much. A girl would be okay.if she were more like you. Or like my mother. But just like me? Ugh."  
  
"A man can hope, anyway," said her husband earnestly.  
  
She looked at him and saw how seriously he'd meant what he'd said. "Maybe next time, anyway," she responded, trying to soften her tone. "We do get one more chance. In the meantime, maybe we should start thinking about boys' names."  
  
Severus knelt down and kissed her still-flat abdomen. "Hello in there," he whispered. "This is your father speaking. You grow well, do you hear me?" Hermione giggled. "And no making your mother sick, either, you understand?"  
  
"If you're going to talk to him, he really does need a name. Now."  
  
"Hermione, love, we can't tell people that we know he's a boy. Let's just pick a nickname. An in-utero name."  
  
Hermione, remembering Minerva's silliness, suggested, "Little Snake?"  
  
They both burst out laughing. Severus calmed himself enough to say, "I think I prefer something a little more formal."  
  
Composing herself, Hermione announced with a perfectly straight face: "His Royal Majesty, Quintus Aurelius, Emperor of the Dungeons." They laughed again-Hermione guffawed until she had to wipe tears from her cheeks.  
  
Yet amazingly, the name stuck. The first of the new generation of Snapes was known as Quintus Aurelius (or, at times, Majesty) until the day he was born.  
  
***  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
First of all, thanks for the many reviews. For the multitudes who have asked, there is no way that I'm going to abandon this story; in fact, the ending is actually mostly written at this point. I just need to write the chapters between now and the end.  
  
I apologize for the amount of time between updates. Please keep in mind that:  
  
+ I tend to write in a very non-linear fashion. (Currently I'm working on both chapter 14 and chapter 17.)  
  
+ I have a very full life outside of fan fiction, which must also be attended to. Life includes, but is not limited to, one old house which I must maintain by Muggle methods, four boys (all homeschooled), commitments in the community, and a writing project for which I hope to get paid someday. This fanfic has recently surpassed my "real" writing project in length, which is a statement on my priorities, don't you think?  
  
Thanks again for all the reviews-chapter 14 is with the betas and should be showing up soon! 


	15. Welcome to the Family

****

Chapter Fourteen

Welcome to the Family

Hermione almost dropped her fork in surprise when the unfamiliar owl swooped down and landed on her plate. "Pregnancy does nothing for my coordination," she commented to Severus as she struggled to untie the letter from the bird's leg. She unfolded the parchment, read the first sentence, and grinned widely. "YES!" she said so loudly that the entire staff stopped eating and turned to stare at her. 

At the other end of the table, Angelina Weasley had just opened a similar envelope. She perused the letter briefly, then waved it at Hermione. "Me too!" she announced joyously.

"What is this nonsense?" said Severus brusquely, snatching the letter out of Hermione's hands. She leaned to read it over his shoulder, as she'd only had the briefest of glimpses before.

***

Mrs. Hermione Snape:

Due to the precipitous drop in the enrollment at Oxford College of Magic during the last six months, we have instituted a distance learning program. It is hoped that those of our students who have ceased attendance due to pregnancy will be able to pursue degrees in this manner.

The following programs are now available:

Courses by correspondence are available for all those working towards bachelor's or master's degrees. Exams will be given at Oxford College of Magic or at one of four approved testing centers (see enclosed list).

Thesis programs for master's degrees must be supervised by licensed Masters. Work may be done at any facility where supervision is available. Theses must be defended before a panel of Oxford professors, either at the College or at a location arranged by the applicant.

If you wish to enroll in the distance learning program, please contact Mr. Donald Prewett in the Admissions Office.

Sincerely,

Francis M. Fawcett

President, Oxford College of Magic

***

"Hmph," remarked Severus with a frown. "I suppose there's no way I'm going to get you to take things easy now, is there?"

"Absolutely not," replied Hermione smugly. "And do you know what? Distance learning is much superior to on-campus classes."

"How is that?"

"I can work at my own pace. No need to wait for the" (she paused to give Severus an evil grin before continuing) "dunderheads making up the rest of the class. I can finish in less than two years!"

Severus rolled his eyes in response.

At that moment a solitary owl fluttered into the Great Hall. Since the post owls had long since flown off to the Owlery, all eyes turned toward it as it swooped down and landed in between Bill and Charlie Weasley.

Bill took the small scrap of paper and read it quickly, then passed it to Charlie.

"Fleur, will you take my classes today?" Hermione heard Bill saying. She could see Fleur replying with a nod; Angelina was also nodding in response to whatever Charlie was saying.

The two Weasley brothers got up and strode off quickly toward the entrance hall; Angelina also rose and made her way over to Dumbledore. "Padma and Parvati are both in labor," she told the headmaster. "I hope you will excuse the Weasley clan from the staff meeting tonight?"

"We'll just have it tomorrow," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle. Suddenly he stopped; his mouth dropped open, and he stared into space for a few seconds. Then, without warning, he began to guffaw so energetically that he almost choked on a half-eaten bit of toast. (He was also loud enough that the entire Great Hall descended into utter silence while everyone stared at him.)

Minerva slapped her husband on the back to dislodge the offending bit of food, and he managed to sit up and get his giggling under control. "Those two," he said, wiping his eyes. "How on earth did they manage it? Simultaneous conceptions I can understandmaybe even simultaneous births. But how did they manage to get it to happen on today, of all days?"

Severus glanced down at the Daily Prophet in front of him, closed his eyes, and frowned. By this point, Hermione knew him well enough to recognize his equivalent of a groan–he never groaned aloud. Curiosity piqued, she leaned over to look at the front page of the Prophet.

The date on top was April 1, 2001. It was April Fool's Day. Her husband shot her one of his trademark glares when she broke out in loud laughter.

***

"Remind me again how I got roped into this?" whispered Severus as he and Hermione trudged through the rain towards the gates of Hogwarts, following Fleur and Angelina. 

"Arthur and Molly consider me and Harry to be honorary Weasleys," explained Hermione patiently. "They can't go through the adoption process for me, since my parents are still alive, and Harry wants to carry on the name of Potter, or they'd have adopted him. So we're just informal family. Which means that you are, too, by marriage."

"I suppose I should be honored," remarked Severus curtly, with an expression that said he was anything but. "There's no way we could skip this, is there?"

"I already missed Zinnia's namesgiving," sighed Hermione.

"And I suppose that they're also invited to His Majesty's namesgiving?"

"ErI suppose so," said Hermione. "Unless you say otherwise, of course."

He shrugged and shook his head. "I have no family to invite, so you'll have to make up the difference."

They'd reached the gates now, and Severus took her hand so that they could Apparate together. Hermione closed her eyes briefly, concentrated on the twins' dwelling, then looked up at her husband. He nodded at her, indicating that he was ready–he'd never been to number ninety-three Diagon Alley, and was following her lead.

They appeared in the spacious living room of the flat above the store. Almost immediately, Fred and George entered from the hall. One carried two little bundles wrapped in blue blankets; the other, two little bundles wrapped in pink. Fleur and Angelina were soon cooing at the little ones, and Hermione found herself drawn forward to look at the peacefully sleeping infants. 

Charlie and Bill emerged from the hall a minute later. "Aren't they cute?" said Charlie to his wife, wrapping his arms protectively around her pregnant belly.

Hermione looked at Severus to see his reaction. She had no doubt that he'd be a good father to older children–children he could talk to–but she still wondered how he'd handle a baby who was little more than a helpless blob.

Her husband was regarding the red and wrinkled faces with more than a modicum of interest. "They are quiteminiscule," he said gruffly.

"They're twins, so they're naturally smaller, and they're four weeks early," said the twin with the boys. "The biggest–this one, here–" (he raised the boy in his left arm a few inches) "weighed six pounds two ounces."

"The boys are yours, then, Fred?" inquired the potions master.

"I'll never understand how you tell us apart," said Fred gloomily. "We can fool everyone else, even Mum. To answer your question, the boy on my left and the girl on George's left are mine. George owns the ones on the right."

"I don't know how we ended up with fraternal twins. We were sure that the potions would ensure identicals," added George. "But oh well. They sure are cutie pies, aren't they?"

The conversation broke off at this point as Molly Weasley helped Padma walk into the living room and settled her into a chair. Ginny and Luna, both obviously pregnant now, followed soon after with Parvati. The rest of the Weasley family, who had obviously been chatting with the new mothers in the bedroom areas, entered on their heels.

Hermione watched as an amazingly quiet Fred named his children Robert and Rose, after which an equally solemn George named his children Samuel and Selena. She had never seen either act so serious before. 

"Well," said Arthur Weasley, surveying his family after the ceremony. "It looks like we'll all be seeing each other again soon."

"Thanks to you, Dad," said Ron, who was trying to keep a hold of a very wiggly Zinnia.

Arthur grinned at his son and took a bow. "Thank you, thank you. So, which of you ladies is next?"

"Not me," said Luna. "I'm July twenty-seventh–I know Fleur and Angelina are ahead of me."

"I'm next in line," said Angelina. "May fifteenth."

"And we're after that," added Bill. "The first of June."

"I'm due on August seventeenth," volunteered Ginny.

Hermione felt all the eyes in the room swivel to look at her. "October eleventh," she said weakly.

"All right, Hermione!" shouted Ron and Harry enthusiastically. Fred and George found people to hold their twins and came up to shake Severus's hand and pat him on the back vigorously.

That night, as they lay cuddled together in bed in the pitch black found only in the dungeons, Severus whispered to Hermione, "That was veryoverwhelming, to say the least."

"It takes some getting used to," she admitted. "Don't forget, I'm an only child too."

"There are so many of them. And they're all so loud andemotional."

"I don't expect you to understand them, dear. Just put up with them."

Hermione felt her husband's body tense up. "II'm sorry I don't show emotion very easily," he muttered. "My fatherstrongly discouraged shows of emotion."

"Discouraged strongly'? What is that supposed to mean?"

There was a long period of silence before Severus replied shortly, "It means he beat me." 

"Oh," said Hermione dumbly. She put her arms around him and held him tightly.

"I hope you don't think I'm going to be that kind of father," he said so softly that she could barely hear him.

"No, of course not," she said, stroking his hair. She couldn't see him in the dark, but she felt his body tense up and turn somewhat away from her.

"I don't want our son to be like me. I want him to laugh when he's happy and cry when he's sad or hurt," he continued.

"You'll be a good father," she whispered reassuringly. "You're a better husband than your father was and you'll be a better daddy too."

"Albus wanted me to teach Potter Occlumency," he said shakily. "He thought I could make him as good an Occlumens as I was. He didn't understand that I couldn't make Harry detach himself from emotion the way I could. What was I supposed to do? Beat him?" He stopped, took a breath, then said, "I'm sorry. I'm rambling. I don't know how you put up with such a pathetic excuse for a man."

"Severus," said Hermione firmly. "Don't you ever say such a thing again. You are wonderful, and I love you. Every bit of you."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the hooked nose that he hated so much. In response, he buried his face in her hair and took several deep, uneven breaths. His whole body quivered as she held him tightly against her. When she turned to kiss him again, her lips found a tear making its way down his cheek. 


	16. The Roar of the Lion

****

Chapter Fifteen

The Roar of the Lion

Hermione supposed that time would drag along if she'd been overcome with morning sickness. But since she hadn't had any symptoms of pregnancy but hunger and fatigue, time seemed to speed up after the birth of the twin twins (as everyone referred to them). 

Her schedule had already been packed before April. Now, with correspondence courses and extra sleep added to the mix, it seemed like she had no free time whatsoever.

It seemed like only a couple of weeks (instead of a couple of months) before Angelina delivered a son, Jason, on the last day of May; no sooner was he born than Fleur announced that she was in labor. On the first day in June she and Bill welcomed their daughter, Persephone, into the world.

A few days after the double namesgiving ceremony, Hermione looked up from the exams she was preparing for her second-year students and asked, "I don't suppose you had any ideas for what to do this summer?"

Severus shrugged. "I thought you'd be too wrapped up in your college studies to go anywhere."

Hermione frowned. "They don't allow us to study year round. For some reason, the professors want a break."

"Fancy that," said her husband with a wink. "Well, I usually stay here over the summer. I'd certainly planned to this year; Albus has made me Acting Assistant Headmaster until Minerva delivers."

"Why in the world would he need an Assistant Headmaster at all when there aren't any students around?" she wondered aloud.

"Aside from taking over whenever Albus is away, his assistant has only one serious duty," Severus said. "Think, Hermione. It hasn't been that long since you received one."

"Received what? Oh! Letters! How dull."

"My thoughts exactly. Those usually take Minerva a month to write out. First and second year letters are easy; third years and up take longer, since they have individualized schedules." Severus scowled a bit and returned to his marking.

"That only takes us through late July, though. There would still be lots of time remaining in the summer. And I figure this is my last chance to travel for a while–you can't apparate with small children. Besides, don't you ever go home?"

"This is my home," he responded quietly. "My parents managed to accumulate a large amount of debt during their lifetime. I sold the manor after their deaths to pay all the creditors."

"Oh," said Hermione quietly. In an effort to end the awkward silence that followed, she added in a cheery tone, "There's always my place in Dover. I love it there."

Her husband finished scanning the contents of the essay he'd been reading, scribbled a mark on the top, and looked up. "Dover is acceptable, but wouldn't you like to go somewhere a little warmer?"

"Somewhere where I can swim would be nice. Angelina says that swimming is heavenly in the last trimester. You're weightless in water."

"There's a lake here," smirked her husband.

"Definitely not what I had in mind!" Hermione grimaced at the thought of the entire Hogwarts staff checking out her bulging tummy as she paraded around in a maternity swimsuit.

Severus allowed himself a rare grin–of the evil variety–before remarking, "I have a good idea of where to go, actually. Do you trust me enough to let me make the arrangements?" He picked up another essay from the stack in front of him and began absentmindedly picking at the corner as he waited for his wife's answer.

Actually, she wasn't sure that she did trust him on this account–he had an unfortunate fondness for practical jokes–but decided that he wouldn't put himself through hell for an extended period of time. So she said, simply, "All right, dear," and blew a kiss at him (she was currently feeling too drained to get off the sofa and walk over to him). He nodded back in return and returned to his marking.

At the last Weasley namesgiving ceremony, Ron had made a comment to her about Snape's complete lack of affection for her. She protested that it wasn't entirely true–he was quite affectionate, in his own way. He just didn't express it in the ways that most people did. She had grown quite fond of the winks and nods that he sent in her direction. Certainly she was glad that he didn't paw all over her in public the way that Draco groped Ginny.

Since the night that her husband had had the audacity to cry in her arms, Hermione had felt more of a connection with him. At first she'd thought it was because he'd started being less of a cold fish, but, after much thought, she'd decided that wasn't the case. He was still as restrained as ever, even in private.

She couldn't analyze exactly why she felt so much more affectionate towards him. That night, she'd told him that she loved him. The words had slipped out of her mouth without thought, yet she'd meant every one of them. She'd never considered herself in love with him before; but now, for some reason, she found that she was quite fond of him, even when he was in one of his sullen or sarcastic moods. She didn't always _like_ him, but she did love him.

It was an odd feeling, one she didn't understand completely, despite her tendency to over-analyze everything. But still, she felt comfortable around him, and that was enough.

Exam week flew by (though the grading of said examinations seemed to take forever). At last the castle was empty of students. Hermione chose her correspondence courses for the following fall and began doing reading in advance so that she could more easily speed through the coursework. 

One day, as she wandered into the Great Hall for breakfast, she bumped into Professor Flitwick. This wasn't much of a surprise, since her nose was buried in a book and he was too busy bouncing up and down to watch where he was going.

"Isn't it exciting?" he squeaked with enthusiasm.

"Huh?" said Hermione, looking down at her book again to see where she had left off reading. "I'm a grandfather!" he chirped excitedly, waving his wand and making the candles along the walls dance.

"Oh!" said Hermione, closing her book with a bang. She hadn't realized that Flitwick was a father at all, much less a grandfather-to-be. 

"At last! I've been telling them to do it for ages!" the diminutive professor chortled as he danced gleefully into the entrance hall. Pausing for a moment, he turned back to Hermione and added, "By the way, Minerva's in labor today. She wanted me to tell you that her water broke at five this morning."

In the Great Hall, Hermione found that Madam Pince was setting up a betting pool as to what hour of the day the Lion Cub would be born. Unfortunately, the slots considered "prime"–in other words, most of the late morning and early afternoon hours–had already been monopolized by Sprout, Hooch, and Pince herself. Trelawney (claiming that her "Inner Eye" never failed") had picked only the 5 pm to 6 pm slot. Professor Vector hadn't picked a time yet, but was busy scribbling equations on the back of her napkin, ostensibly to determine the most appropriate time of birth.

Hermione had never been one for gambling, but decided that she'd participate–for a reduced price. She managed to negotiate a discount on the purchase of all the hours between 10 pm and 6 am.

"You do realize that you won't win," said Madam Pince, writing down Hermione's name with her right hand while holding out her left hand for the negotiated two galleons.

"We'll see," said Hermione smugly. She had a vague recollection that more babies were born at night during the day. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite sure whether it was an old wives' tale or not. Her memory was becoming decidedly foggier.

Since there were no students to attend to, the female members of the staff (those who weren't on holiday, anyway) spent the day in the staff lounge playing cards waiting for news. After several hours, though, the eagerness dissipated. By four in the afternoon, Hooch and Sprout were in a sour mood (they'd obviously lost their money) and left in search of more entertaining pastimes. 

By midnight, Hermione was the only one left. She was curled on a couch facing the fireplace (so that announcements would be easier to notice). She realized, after a while, that she could just as easily hear the news from her own fireplace, but that would involve standing up and walking, and she was much too tired to do that. 

Besides, Severus was currently using their sitting room for writing letters to fourth- and fifth-year students, which meant a lot of swearing and yelling. Severus was never happy when he was forced to be polite. Writing all the letters in the nicest of terms hadn't done wonders for his temper.

As she relaxed on the sofa, Hermione instinctively rubbed the small bulge below her waist. She closed her eyes and settled deeper into the comfortable cushions, trying to ignore the achiness of her limbs and the soreness of her breasts. She had no luck, though; for some reason she was extraordinarily tuned in to her body tonight. She was noticing everything: a small bubble of gas made its way from the left side of her intestines to the right. Or maybe it wasn't gas! The "bubble" suddenly reversed direction and went from right to left..

Hermione smiled and lay completely still, focusing on the gentle, feathery movements of her baby. She was so completely relaxed that she drifted off into slumber.

The light coming through the windows was dim and gray when she heard Severus's voice. "Hermione?"

Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she gazed up into her husband's eyes. "Has she still not delivered? I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"I haven't slept yet," he scowled. "I was waiting for you to come back. Albus just asked the staff to come up to his quarters, so I assume the Little Lion has arrived."

He helped her get to her feet–none too gently, she noticed–and directed her towards the headmaster's quarters. As she stumbled along, trying to keep up with him, she managed to say, "Quintus Aurelius is moving now. I felt him last night."

Severus slowed down and sneered at her. "Of course he's moving. He's probably been moving for a long time now." Then his expression softened a little, and he said softly, "I don't suppose I could feel him yet?"

"I'm really only sensing him internally," Hermione said. "I don't feel anything when I put my hand on the spot where he's moving, so I doubt it. Not until he gets stronger."

"Hmmm," muttered her husband, looking somewhat disappointed. The grumpy expression remained on his face, but he slowed down enough to take her hand as they walked through the corridors.

Albus and Minerva's sitting room was full of staff members. A digruntled Madam Pince handed Hermione a sack full of galleons. "Five o'clock this morning," she said shortly. "Twenty-four hours of labor, who would have thought?"

"Come now, Irma, Minerva's body isn't as young and strong as it used to be," said a bleary-eyed Madam Pomfrey, closing the bedroom door behind her as she entered. She yawned widely and collapsed into a chair. "Albus says they'll do the namesgiving now and then they'll sleep for about forty-eight hours. I only hope the little one complies."

Albus Dumbledore entered the room supporting his wife with one arm and holding a squalling little bundle in blue in the other. The staff gathered around him, in a circle. Hermione could barely keep her eyes open during the ceremony. (She wasn't the only one, she noticed; next to her, Poppy was nodding off, only staying upright because she was crammed between Hermione and Professor Sprout.) 

The baby was named Leo Albus something something Dumbledore–Hermione dozed off for the rest of the middle names, but she assumed he had three of them, like his father.

Finally, Minerva (who looked more bedraggled than Hermione had thought humanly possible) retired to the bedroom with her husband. The staff had volunteered to watch the little one for a few hours so the couple could have a little bit of uninterrupted sleep. Little Leo was now bundled into a sling draped over Filius Flitwick's shoulder and en route to his first breakfast at Hogwarts.

When the weary staff trudged into the Great Hall for breakfast, their mouths dropped open with amazement. The enormous room had been completely decked out with streamers, balloons, confetti (wafting magically about the room–it never settled on the floor), and one big sign at the far end which they couldn't quite read.

Suddenly Peeves, who was busy suspending a balloon bouquet over Dumbledore's chair, looked up and saw that his audience had arrived. "Like my party decorations?" he cackled. He waved his hand at the sign; immediately the letters glowed fluorescent orange, allowing them all to read the message thereon:

WELCOME TO HOGWARTS, BARMY YOUNG CODGER!


	17. Trouble in Paradise

****

Chapter Sixteen

Trouble in Paradise

Severus had always reminded Hermione of a cat. When she was a student, she'd assumed it was the grace and stealth with which he moved (not to mention the general aloofness and the hissing and spitting when angered) which gave her that impression. Now that they'd been married almost a year, she realized that she had to add stretching to her list of feline characteristics.

Her husband had just risen from the desk where he'd been sitting and was stretching and arching his body slowly, trying to get all the kinks out. As he brought his arms back down to his sides, he emitted a noise that sounded suspiciously like a "Mrrrrow!"

"Second years done! Just the first years left to go." Hermione hadn't been all that surprised to discover that her husband started with the hardest tasks and saved the easy ones for last. It was the way she'd done things since she was small–an approach that Harry and Ron had never understood.

She looked down at the desk with its stacks of envelopes. "Are you going to deliver those before you start? I'll help you take them up to the owlery."

His eyes sparkled greedily. "Please do. Then you can accompany me to the Register."

"The– the register?" stammered Hermione, flustered.

He leaned against his desk with a sigh. "Haven't you ever wondered how Minerva knows whom to send the letters to?"

"I guess I never really considered it," she said truthfully.

"Well, the founders of Hogwarts installed a magical Register of Births. Every time a child of magical ability is born, his or her name is inscribed on a scroll. Now of course, certain of the founders were adamant that this registry must be kept a secret, as they didn't want Squibs to be killed off."

"Why do I have a feeling that Salazar Slytherin did not agree?" she interrupted.

He smirked at her before continuing, "So the Register is off-limits to the general public. In fact, it's off limits to even the Staff, except for the Headmaster and his Assistant, and even they can only access it once per year."

"Will it let me in, then? I'm not an Assistant Headmistress," Hermione inquired.

"I'm not sure, but I'm hoping my identity is enough to open the door for all and sundry," Severus said. "In any case, we'll find out soon, won't we?" He picked up a stack of letters and handed it to his wife. Scooping up the rest of the letters himself, he headed towards the door.

"Well, this will be very educational," said Hermione.

"Educational?" sneered her husband. "What a Gryffindor attitude. This is a chance to gather valuable information."

She didn't understand, but decided to take a wait-and-watch approach to the rest of the afternoon.

After fastening several dozen letters to owls' legs, she was ready to take a rest, but Severus insisted that she accompany him on his next errand. The Register was evidently just down the hall from the Room of Requirement. Severus stopped in front of a painting which depicted a knight in golden armor practicing his jousting skills. "Severus Snape, Acting Assistant Headmaster, requests entrance," he said curtly.

The knight turned his head only a little, as if loath to stop his attempts at the quintain, and said, "Very well, sir! But who, may I ask, is the fair lady?" Without waiting for a reply, he pulled on the reins of his horse and began galloping again at the dummy. 

Severus waited until he returned to the near side of the tilt to explain, "My wife wishes to accompany me, if it's permitted."

"Spouses are allowed," remarked the knight, and the painting swung aside. Hermione followed her husband into a small, dusty room containing only a desk for furniture. A long scroll of parchment draped over the edge and coiled on the dusty floor. 

Severus knelt next to this and unrolled it, scanning the feathery script. "We're supposed to check the dates and find everyone born after the cut-off," he said. "Ah, here we are." He drew a pair of scissors from a hidden pocket of his robes and carefully cut the scroll between two names.

As Hermione watched, fascinated, a quill resting on the desk suddenly picked itself up, dipped itself in an inkpot, and began to scribble on the other end of the scroll. "Wow! Someone just had a baby!" She leaned over to look at the name: Scribble Scribble Scribble Malfoy. "Ginny's had her baby! How neat! Why can't I make out the name?"

It seemed odd to her, for most of the names on the list were quite legible.

"I believe the names don't take shape until after the namesgiving ceremony," said Severus thoughtfully. "In any case, I certainly hope you realize that you aren't to say a word about this to either Ginny or Draco."

"Why not?" she asked with a pout. "He– or she, I suppose– isn't a Squib."

"How Gryffindor of you," said her husband, echoing the statement he'd made earlier. "Don't you realize what sort of favors I could get in trade for this sort of information?"

"Favors?" said Hermione, shocked. "I don't see why that would be necessary."

Severus laughed and returned his attention to the list of newborns. "Ah, yes, here we are," he said, pointing at an entry five names down from the newest Malfoy. The name read: Leo Albus Peter Galahad Dumbledore, 8 July 2001. "Now this is information we can bargain with," he smirked.

"Bargain for what? The Defense against the Dark Arts professorship?" she asked, puzzled.

"No, you silly goose," teased her husband. "Our baby isn't on the list yet since he hasn't been born. And I won't be able to check next year. But Minerva will. And since she doesn't want to wait a year to find out if Leo's on the Registry or not, we can extract a promise that she'll tell us if"

"That's–" Hermione began, but shut her mouth suddenly. She had been about to say, "not fair", but she realized that it actually wasn't. Besides, _she_ didn't want to wait ten or eleven years to find out if Quintus was going to attend Hogwarts.

"Hmmm," she grinned, suddenly realizing the possibilities. "I wonder what Draco would be willing to barter for information like this."

"I knew you'd come around in time," said her husband seriously. "I'll make you a fitting Queen of Slytherin yet."

***

Since letters to the first years were all the same, Severus carefully wrote out one letter and then duplicated it. His only remaining tasks were to personalize each letter with a greeting and to address each envelope. So it was only two days after the visit to the Registry that Hermione was packing her suitcase for vacation.

"So, where are we going?" she asked, staring blankly into the wardrobe.

"You'll find out," her husband replied.

"Oh, please tell me, Severus," she begged. "I don't know what sort of clothes to pack."

"Pack for warm weather. Muggle attire," was his only response.

Needless to say, Hermione was quite eager to Apparate away from the castle, if for no other reason than to find out where she was going to spend the next two weeks.

Hermione was surprised to see her husband dressing himself in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts. _He definitely looks better in black, _she thought as she gently gathered his long hair into a ponytail.

"What are you staring at?" he asked testily.

"I've–I've never seen you in Muggle clothes before."

"And probably won't again, after this vacation," he said sharply. 

Severus insisted on draping a cloak over himself for the walk to the gates. Evidently he didn't wish for anyone else to see him in Muggle clothes. When they reached their favorite Apparition spot, he removed the cloak and stuffed it into his duffel bag.

"Why are we going to this place if you hate Muggle clothes so much?"

"Perfect place. Muggle clothes are a necessity," he said shortly.

A minute later they were standing in an alley off a bustling street. Hermione looked up and sawthe Parthenon. "Oh, Athens! I've never been here before!" she exclaimed.

"Nice," said Severus. "Just remember, the Greek Ministry of Magic has been in a state of hostility with the English Ministry ever since the war. As long as we are here, we're Muggles, okay?"

"Sure," she said, still a bit shell-shocked. "So where do we go from here?"

Where they went from the alley was a four-star hotel. Hermione, opening the door to their "room", discovered that they had the honeymoon suite. "Wow," she said, walking across the room to the balcony and checking out the view.

"Very elegant," said Severus primly as he closed the door behind him.

It should have been a fantastic vacation. Each day they visited as many museums and historical sites as her swelling feet could handle, then spent several hours in the pool or at the beach.

That vacation also marked the first time that Severus felt his son move. "Wiggly little fellow, isn't he?" he remarked, as he lay with his hand on Hermione's belly.

"An understatement if I ever heard one," replied his wife, who could have sworn that she'd felt her child doing a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree somersault earlier that day.

With so many intellectually stimulating–or warm and loving–memories, it was a shame that in the years to come, the one thing that Hermione should always remember about this vacation was the fight.

It happened two days before they left. After a long, full day they had collapsed into bed. Severus was massaging her lower back, which was aching as usual, while Quintus Aurelius pummeled her from the inside.

Her husband spoke up, suddenly. "Since you're determined not to leave His Majesty in Peggy's care, what are you going to do during class?

"Leave him with you, if possible," she said.

"And if not?"

"Then we'll take him to class. You half of the time and me the other half."

"Absolutely not!"

Hermione pouted, though, since her back was turned to her husband, it was a fruitless gesture. "Come now, Severus, wasn't it just the other day that you said that fathers should work less and spend more time with their children?"

"I have made arrangements for someone else to manufacture Poppy's medicinals," he said shortly. "I will have more time."

"But Severus–OUCH!" Her husband had stopped kneading her back gently; it felt as though he were trying to spear her with his thumbs.

"Negotiation is not an option," he said sternly.

"Says who? I told you before you even proposed that I thought we should do the raising of our children ourselves. You never said anything against it!"

"I believe that to be an admirable ideal. But ideal theories don't always work out in practice."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" spat Hermione angrily, sitting up. "Fine. I won't ask you to handle half of the classes. Just one or two."

Severus sat up as well. "I will not take my children into my class with me. Surely you can see it's a bad idea. You spent five years brewing potions next to Longbottom; you know what sorts of things can happen when students make errors. Would you really like to expose a helpless infant to that?"

Hermione sniffed. She knew, in a way, that he was probably right, but she didn't want to admit it. Certainly no word of apology was spoken by either of them. In fact, she didn't speak another word to him that night; they slept at opposite sides of the mattress instead of cuddled up together in the middle.

The last two days of their vacation were not nearly as enjoyable as the first twelve. Hermione could not wait to get back to Hogwarts. In the castle, she had her own office; she didn't need to be with Severus twenty-four hours a day. Which was good, because she no longer wanted to.

What an selfish git he was. An absolutely annoying incompetent moron!


	18. Birth

****

Chapter Seventeen

Birth

The Welcome Feast seemed a bit surreal that year, no doubt because of the three babies in attendance. It seemed a bit odd to see Minerva reading the scroll of first years' names while cuddling Leo in a sling. In past years, everyone had sat in rapt silence during Dumbledore's speeches; this year, however, Charlie Weasley paced the length of the Great Hall, patting a whimpering Jason on the back, while the headmaster delivered his words of welcome. And then there was the fact that most of the teen boys were _not_ looking at Fleur–somehow, most of them seemed to find her less attractive now that she was a mother.

When classes started the following day, Hermione found herself wondering, once again, how she was going to cope with a baby. Albus cared for Leo during Minerva's classes; Bill and Fleur took turns with Persephone, since they never taught at the same time. Angelina didn't even teach at all, making work-family juggling unnecessary.

Hermione was going to have a more difficult time. She only taught twelve hours per week, true, but Severus was unavailable to help with babysitting for ten of those twelve hours. She briefly considered asking Dumbledore to get a teaching assistant for Potions, but decided that her husband would never cede control over any aspect of teaching his favorite subject.

By this point, she had more or less forgiven Severus for not agreeing to take Quintus with him to class. It was the logical thing to do. She still stubbornly insisted, however, that she would not allow Peggy to care for the baby when she was teaching.

Things had a way of working out; she clung to hope and figured that a solution would present itself in time. Unfortunately, October eleventh came and went and no brilliant ideas had come to her.

***

Hermione took what she told herself was her last pre-birth look through the trunk of baby things. She was just checking to see that she hadn't forgotten anything. Not that that was likely–she'd checked twice a day since the beginning of October. Three dozen times. Quintus Aurelius was now a whole week late. She wondered vaguely how many "last looks" she'd take before her child decided to grace the world with his appearance.

She shut the trunk with a bang, then–after a quick trip to the loo–tottered into her room and collapsed into bed.

She slept fairly well that night, considering that she had forty extra pounds tacked onto her abdomen; she didn't wake for her nightly visit to the toilet until five in the morning. 

She was a bit surprised when she pulled down her knickers; there were spots of blood in the crotch. Her books had warned her about "passing the mucous plug"something about "mucous tinged with blood". This didn't look like that at all. It looked like she was starting her period. Was something wrong? No sooner had she wondered this than she felt her uterus tense up. Ah, a contraction. Maybe she was in labor.

When Severus awoke at seven, she was busily flipping through her birthing books. "Hermione?" he said foggily. "Is something wrong?"

"I think I'm in labor," she replied. "My first contractions were a little after five, so according to this graph I should be dilated one centimeter. Quintus will arrive a little after lunchtime."

Severus peered over her shoulder. "This graph is for an average labor, love," he smirked. "You may not be average."

He was right. By three o'clock she was in despair. For the last two hours, the contractions had been coming three minutes, twenty-four point seven seconds apart. (Hermione had painstakingly calculated the median timing, complete with standard deviation. She'd had to do the math by hand, since calculators didn't work at Hogwarts.)

According to the books, when the contractions were this close together, she should be progressing fairly quickly. And yet Madam Pomfrey had checked her with a diagnostic spell and proclaimed her to be only four centimeters dilated. "This is going to take forever!" she groaned. "I'm progressing at one-third the rate on the graph! I'm not going to have the baby until tomorrow!"

"Just walk around a bit; let gravity help your body," instructed the mediwitch.   
"I'll be in the sitting room. I'll hear if you need me."

Hermione paced back and forth for fifteen minutes or so. Finally she stopped near her husband. "I'm going to go to the loo. I'll yell if I need help, okay?" He nodded, frowning. He'd seemed tense all afternoon; evidently he didn't like playing the waiting game any more than his wife did.

Hermione returned from the bathroom with a small smile on her face. "Boy, the books were right! The toilet does make a good birthing stool!"

Severus looked at her oddly. "Excuse me?"

"Well, my contractions in there seemed a lot moreeffective, I guess, than the ones I've been having out here." She sat down on the edge of the mattress and folded her legs under her. 

"You might want to rest, Hermione," he said quietly. "At the rate you're progressing, it's liable to be several more hours."

"Nonsense," she said with a smug expression on her face. "I'm in transition already. Look at my legs, I can't stop them from shaking." Her whole body was shivering, in fact, yet she wasn't cold at all.

He scowled at her. "Women aren't supposed to be able to _talk_ during transition, much less smile. You hope too much."

"But the books say" her voice trailed off when she saw her husband roll his eyes at her.

Suddenly the feeling hit her. "Urgh," she said faintly.

"Hermione?"

"Iwell, I need to use the bathroom again. Why now? I don't think I can walk there. Too shivery." Her breathing was shallow and rapid now. _I will not shit on the bed. I will not shit on the bed,_ she thought disconnectedly as she tried to keep from doing just that. Unfortunately the shit was very persistent. It hurt like hell to keep it in. 

She must have cried out, because Poppy Pomfrey came running in from the sitting room, practically screaming the words of a diagnostic spell. "My word, you're complete already! I thought so; you sound like a woman about to give birth."

"I _told_ you I was in transition!" Hermione screamed at her husband.

Severus was staring at her, slack-jawed, at a loss for words for the first time in his life.

"Hermione, are you feeling an urge to push?" asked Poppy seriously.

"II don't know. I feel like I have to use the loo."

"Honey, that's the baby coming out. Don't hold back; just push next time you have a contraction."

"Oh," said Hermione. The books hadn't described it quite like that. Well, now she knew.

"Severus, come sit behind Hermione and help support her," the nurse ordered.

He was sitting behind her now, forming the perfect backrest. She felt his arms surrounding her, holding her up as the urge hit her once more and she bore down with all her might. This went on for what seemed like an eternity. The pain was intensifying; her rational mind told her not to push, as it only made things hurt worse, but she couldn't help herself. 

"I can'tI won't make it," she managed to pant between contractions.

"Nonsense, said Poppy firmly. "Reach down. You should be able to feel the head." And she could. It was softer than she'd imagined (not surprising, she supposed, since the bones of the skull hadn't fused yet). Her baby was there–right there, right about to be born.

Her uterus began tightening again, pushing the baby out. The stretching, burning pain was beyond all belief, but Hermione thought of the little one she was about to hold and pushed anyway.

"Okay now, stop pushing for just a bit," instructed the nurse. 

__

Oh, heavens above, thought Hermione as she fought to restrain her muscles' instinctive reaction. Holding back was worse than pushing.

There was a weak wail from between her legs. She wanted to sit up more so she could see what was happening, but she didn't think she could muster the energy.

Poppy was speaking again. "Hermione, Severus, reach down and get your baby's shoulders," she instructed. Hermione reached down, Severus's arms next to hers, and managed to grab hold of the slippery little body. She really didn't have the strength to lift him at all, but Severus was helping her; there was a little bundle of flailing arms and legs resting on her chest now.

"Oh," she said, as she watched Madam Pomfrey expertly wrapping the baby in a warmed blanket. There were really no words in the English language to describe the rush of emotions that flooded through her as she held her little one in her arms for the first time. Behind her, she heard Severus sniffle a little; his arms hugged her close to his body, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Now we just need to wait for the placenta," said Poppy matter-of-factly, completely oblivious to the cuddling and sniffling going on next to her. Hermione looked down: the umbilical cord ran out of a fold of the blanket and down between her legs. She hadn't realized that her baby was still attached to her.

Soon enough the placenta was delivered and Severus cut the umbilical cord. Hermione lay, propped against pillows, staring at the little creature nursing vigorously at her breast. _Did I ever really consider not having children?_ she thought foggily. _What was wrong with me?_ For she could not conceive of loving anything in the universe as much as she loved the baby she held in her arms.

***

By nine o'clock that evening, the Snape sitting room was packed with people: Hogwarts staff, the Grangers, assorted Weasleys, and a few friends. Hermione took her place at her husband's right hand and watched as her loved ones gathered in a circle around them.

Then Severus, cradling his son gently in his arms, spoke the age-old words of the naming ceremony.

"Young one, fresh from Mother Earth and mother's womb, I take you in my arms to give you a name and to call forth gifts upon your head. Those who love you have gathered here to strengthen you and bless you. May health and strength be yours all the days of your life. May the magic of the fire, the air, the water, and the earth be yours. May the love of your family and friends surround you and support you each day that you dwell on earth."

Severus paused and Hermione looked at him expectantly. They'd decided on a name weeks before, but she'd heard of men who changed their minds during the ceremony and gifted their baby with a name their wife hadn't approved in advance. Since the naming ceremony triggered the magical Birth Recorder at the Ministry of Magic, such changes were basically irreversible.

Severus took a deep breath and continued. "Those of us who stand in this circle pledge to teach you, stand by you, support you, and love you. This we pledge to you, Theodore Conrad Snape."

"So we pledge," murmured the onlookers in the circle. Hermione relaxed. She hadn't really expected him to change the name on the spur of the moment–Severus was hardly an impulsive person–and yet, for some reason, it was a relief to hear him speak the name they'd chosen aloud.

Everyone was crowding around her now, congratulating her and Severus. Ginny giggled over Theodore's naming robes; Severus had insisted that an emperor needed to wear royal purple. Molly Weasley was touching a little hand and telling Severus how much she missed having little ones.

"Sit down, honey, you look exhausted," said Mr. Granger, who was now standing behind his daughter. He guided her to an armchair and knelt beside her with tears in his eyes. "My little girl's all grown up," he said sadly.

"All grown up and all worn out," said Severus, who had evidently passed his son to one of the adoring women. "We need to get you to bed before you pass out."

Albus Dumbledore, who seemed to have heard this comment from the other side of the crowded room, announced suddenly: "Refreshments will be served in the Great Hall in five minutes." Hermione sighed with relief as her friends waved goodbye and left her rooms.

When everyone was gone she tried to stand up again, but suddenly felt light-headed. Her father took her arm to steady her. "You were never Named as a baby, but I would have promised to support you anyway," he said with a smile.

"Since I'm supposed to have and hold you for the rest of my life, I suppose I had better hold you now," remarked Severus as he caught a hold of her other arm. They walked into the bedroom together, followed closely by Hermione's mother, who was cradling her first grandchild tenderly in her arms.

As Hermione drifted off to sleep a few minutes later, she felt a strange sense of connectedness–not just to her baby, but also to her husband and her parents.


	19. A Day in the Life

****

Author's Note: Since I've been asked this so many times, I feel obligated to reply. In a normal birth, once the shoulders of the baby have emerged, the rest of the body slips out. In a hospital, the doctor catches the baby, announces the gender, then hands him/her to the nurse to wash, weigh, measure, etc. 

If the doctor doesn't "catch" the baby, someone else must, or (due to the way hospital beds are set up) it will slip out onto the floor. I became accustomed to having my babies taken away from me right after delivery.

I was pleasantly surprised during my home birth to find that this need not be the case. Once the shoulders were delivered, my midwife asked me and my husband to lift the baby up and snuggle him against us. He was wrapped immediately in warmed blankets, right there on my chest, and then coaxed into nursing. All this happened before the delivery of the placenta and cutting of the cord. The midwife peeked inside the blankets a couple of times to evaluate him (Apgar) but I did not have to let go of my baby until the newborn exam 45 minutes later.

If you have a low-risk pregnancy, home births rule! My only complaint is that I didn't figure this out sooner

Chapter Eighteen

A Day in the Life

Hermione awoke at six in the morning and sat up quietly. Theo, now seven months old, was still asleep in the cot next to the bed. Severus snored peacefully; his hand draped over the side of the bed and rested on Theo's head.

She slipped out of the room and into the bathroom. The warm water of the shower drizzled over her, washing the vestiges of sleep from her mind. It was late May, but there was still a decided chill in the air at this time of day. Mornings were always overcast at this time of year; the clouds hung low at sunrise but would be gone by eleven. In any case, it seemed too cold to be out of bed. Hermione stayed in the warm shower far too long.

It was only when she felt the tingling in her breasts–clear evidence that Theo would be wanting to feed soon–that she grudgingly turned off the water and toweled herself dry. She hurried back into the bedroom, hoping to be able to dress before feeding her baby. No such luck. 

She managed to snatch up her son before he wailed loud enough to wake his father. Severus had had several students in detention the night before; since he didn't have a class until ten, she figured he deserved a bit of a lie-in.

Hermione breakfasted in the Great Hall with Theo on her lap, as usual. Unlike their counterparts in the Muggle world (for whom jars of baby food were everyday fare), Hogwarts babies were expected to feed on mashed food from their parents' plates. Theo gnawed eagerly on a slice of plain toast while Hermione consumed her own breakfast.

Next to them, Minerva was attempting to eat a hard-boiled egg without having it confiscated by her own son. "Ready for exams yet?" she said, holding the egg out of reach in hopes that Leo would forget about it.

"Mostly," said Hermione. "I just need to finish the first years' tests andTheo!" Her son had managed to grab hold of a whole sausage and was trying to stuff it in his mouth. After she managed to extract it from his grasp, he burst out wailing.

"I'd better leave," she said, eyeing her unfinished plate of scones and fried eggs disappointedly. 

"That's right, you have Hufflepuffs at eight, don't you?"

Hermione fled the hall while patting her son on the back in a vain effort to calm him down.

***

For the first five months of Theodore Snape's life, Transfiguration lectures had been viewed from the comfort of a baby sling. Now, however, he found such confinement to be an insult to his independence. He only enjoyed the sling as long as it was accompanied by a change of scenery. Sitting in the tight pouch in a boring classroom was not his cup of tea.

Hermione had set up a playpen in the corner of the classroom and kept it full of toys for his amusement. When he got tired of the toys that were there, she transfigured them into new ones. _A good practical lesson for my students, _she thought as she changed the stuffed Kneazle into a toy Puffskein. She imagined that, at some point, Theo would not be content to be confined to a small area; she wondered what she'd do then.

After the relatively uneventful lesson with the Hufflepuffs, Hermione took Theo outside for a walk. She met Albus Dumbledore near the greenhouses with his son, which was a good excuse to give her arms a rest. Albus conjured a blanket and they set their two boys down to play together.

"He really loves Leo," mused Hermione.

"Leo really loves him," said Albus fondly.

The boys were staring at each other, enthralled.

"I hate to see what they'll get up to together once they start walking," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"Indeed," grinned the Headmaster. "Especially if Mr. Weasley decides to join them."

Hermione doubted that would ever happen. Theo was interested in all babies, but he was only truly fascinated by Leo. "Well, it's good to know that he'll have a best friend," she said, wishing that she'd had a friend she'd known from birth.

Eventually, of course, she had to go back to the castle. Albus wished her luck in her upcoming lesson (that year's batch of Gryffindors was especially boisterous) and started a one-sided conversation with his son.

Hermione, having managed to muddle through her eleven o'clock lecture, went eagerly to the Great Hall for lunch. She hadn't had much for breakfast, so she handed her son over to his father and devoured her soup and bread with relish.

Afterwards she took Theo back to their rooms, set him on the carpet so he could crawl around, and began marking essays. During the next two hours he was fed once, changed twice, and retrieved from the bathroom three times by Peggy. Finally he was settled down for a nap, leaving Hermione free to go to her three o'clock class.

She was glad that he usually slept during this lecture. She had the third-year Slytherins, who seemed to enjoy using magic surreptitiously to disrupt the lesson. Once, when her back was turned, someone had charmed the words on the blackboard to rearrange themselves into "Bite me!" Another time they enspelled the desks to waltz around the room in pairs. Hermione assumed that they got good marks in Charms; they certainly needed work on their Transfiguration skills. 

When she returned from class, Theo was not in his cot. "He is waking up, so Master Severus is taking him for a walk," explained Peggy.

"Oh, all right," said Hermione grumpily. She'd been hoping to nurse him; her breasts were achingly full, needing relief.

After searching the grounds for a while, she found them in the herb garden. Severus had just plucked a sprig of lavender and was showing it to his son. "Lavender. This is lavender. Doesn't it smell lovely?" 

She watched in silence as they continued down the path. "This is oregano. See how round the leaves are? Such a nice gray-green. Let me crush a leaf for you so that you can take a whiff of the fragrance."

Hermione unwittingly snapped a twig as she followed behind them. Her husband looked up and nodded in greeting. "Slytherins give you much trouble, love?"

"Perkins tried to get away with using the tickling charm on me, but I managed to deflect it."

He smirked. "I'm sure I could make his life interesting tomorrow in Potions. Shall we go to dinner?"

"We have an hour still. I need to nurse Theo, anyway." Her milk was already leaking from her breasts; just the sight of her baby was enough to get the flow started when she was so bursting full.

Severus looked down at the wet spots on her robe and gave her an evil grin. "Go ahead, my sweet little dairy cow."

She elbowed him in the ribs and they both burst out laughing. She sat down on a nearby bench, still chuckling, and latched her baby onto her breast. It had taken her almost a year, but she'd finally become accustomed to her husband's biting humor. At first he'd been surprised when she laughed at his comments–no one had ever done that before–but after a while, he'd started laughing along with her. Assuming that no students were present, of course. He did have a reputation to keep up.

He joined her on the bench and they began chatting about the students' terrible essay writing skills. Hermione liked talking with her husband. It happened far too little during the school year; it seemed that they were both so busy all the time. She looked forward to the summer, when they would finally be able to talk on a regular basis.

Eventually, of course, the conversation ended. Theo needed his nappy changed, and both of his parents needed to get to the Great Hall for dinner.

After the meal, Severus shut himself in his study to mark essays. Hermione played with Theo halfheartedly for a while, then pulled out the books for her correspondence course. She tried to remain focused but nearly dozed off a couple of times. Once she actually did fall asleep, and was only awoken by a loud bang–Theo had pulled several books off one of the shelves.

__

Let me just finish this essay, Hermione thought as she replaced the volumes in their rightful positions, _and then I'll go to bed. Well, maybe I'll read before falling asleep, but I do have to teach at eight o'clock again tomorrow. _She sat down at the table with a roll of parchment and a quill and kept Theo out of trouble the best way she could: she nursed him.

Eventually Severus poked his head into the room. "Is His Majesty all fed and changed? I need to get out and patrol soon."

"Fed, but not changed," she replied, as she managed to unlatch her son from her breast without putting down her quill. "I'll take care of that right now."

Reluctantly she put aside her essay and carried Theo to the nursery, where she changed his nappy. No one had, as yet, developed a spell to change nappies. Pins were devilishly tricky to do by hand; Hermione could only imagine what it would be like trying to guide them by spell. _Someday,_ she thought, _I'll introduce the wizarding world to disposables._

Luckily, spells were available for cleaning messy bottoms. And with a house elf to do laundry, there was less annoyance associated with cloth diapers than she'd thought there would be.

"Done," she said, handing her son to her husband. Theo cried as he left his mother's arms, but calmed as soon as Severus settled him into the sling. Ah yes, the sling–magic of a different variety. Hermione had bought hers during pregnancy, and Severus–impressed with the results he'd seen when she used it to carry the newborn Theo–had insisted that she buy him one, too. In black. He had to have one for himself.

Hermione smiled, remembering the look on her husband's face when he'd been told that slings only came in pastels or bright colors. She'd tried using a color-changing charm on hers, but it would wear off at all the wrong times–usually when Severus was in the middle of bawling out students who had broken rules. They'd always giggle when they saw the sling morph from black to pink with white hearts. 

In the end, she'd gone to her parents' house and hunted around the Internet for a pattern. Peggy had helped her to custom-make the black sling that Severus now used for carrying his son on his rounds.

"You're tired. Go to sleep. Leave the essay until tomorrow," her husband was admonishing.

"Ummyes, dear," she replied meekly, heading for the bedroom. "Good night, you two handsome men." Of course, she fully intended to wait in the bedroom for a mere five minutes–by which time Severus would be up in the Entrance Hall–before coming out to work on her essay again. Being around Slytherins had taught her quite a bit.

The door closed. Severus was off to make his nightly rounds, which he would continue until Theo decided to drift off to sleep.

When they'd first started this, Hermione had assumed that Theo would make enough noise to alert out-of-bounds students to Severus's approach. After all, he was never particularly quiet when he was with her. Not so. When Severus had first told her how absolutely silent he was the whole time, she hadn't believed him; she'd had to accompany them on patrol a few times before she realized that her son, like her husband, relished The Hunt.

__

Just a couple more sentences and then I can start the conclusion, she thought as she glanced over her essay. _Ah, yesI know exactly what to sayDone!_ She tossed her quill aside, picked up Arcane Theories of Transfiguration, and headed off to bed. It had been a long day.


	20. Awards

****

Chapter Nineteen

Awards

On the lawn outside of the front door of Hogwarts castle, three young boys chased a ball, screaming loudly. One, short and stocky but obviously well-coordinated for his age, managed to kick the ball from between his two playmates and deftly maneuvered it in the direction of a large elm tree. His curly black hair seemed to be sticking straight up as he yelled, "I win, Mummy! I win!"

"Very nice, Jason," said Angelina Weasley, as she extracted a leaf from her daughter Janice's mouth.

Beside her, Hermione Snape watched the two other boys running, panting, towards the tree. "Poor Theo," she remarked, watching the smaller of the two. "I hope he doesn't ever want to be an athlete." Theo, now two and a half, was average in height but extremely slender. Leo Dumbledore was also rather thin but towered over Theodore height-wise.

As she had expected, Leo had grown up to be best friends with her son. They were already inseparable. The natural consequence was that she now watched Leo for Minerva and Albus several hours a week. In exchange, one of Leo's parents watched Theodore for her when she taught.

The three boys collapsed in the shade of the tree and were soon busy trying to catch ants.

"Just think, Hermione," said Angelina. "Three more weeks and it will all be over. I already have my required two children, and soon I'll have my bachelor's degree as well. 

Hermione patted her bulging midriff. "I'd better be done in three weeks," she said with a sigh. "Theo was a bit late, but I'm hoping this one will be early."

"In any case, you'll be done soon," said Angelina cheerily. She leaned over suddenly and grabbed a stick from Janice's clenched fist. Stroking her daughter's frizzy red hair she added, "I'd forgotten how much trouble this age can be. But I'm glad we we have Janice. If nothing else, we got a bigger house out of the bargain."

The Weasley home, formerly the dwelling of Hagrid, had been enlarged the previous summer. It was now a full-fledged cottage, with a living area and master bedroom downstairs and two small attic bedrooms upstairs.

"Hold on a moment. You say you'll be done. Don't you want to get a master's degree?" inquired Hermione.

"Nope. I'm glad to get this over with. No more school for me!"

Hermione frowned. "I wish they offered doctorates." They didn't, of course, even if you attended the on-site university. Doctorates were a Muggle invention. That didn't keep her from feeling any less disappointed, though.

***

Standing in front of the mirror, Hermione tugged her maternity robes this way and that, trying in vain to look less pregnant than she actually was.

"Why aren't you out of there yet?" she demanded of her baby grumpily.

"Obviously he's inherited his mother's stubbornness," smirked her husband, who had appeared in the doorway.

"Or his father's," she retorted. "I'm starting to believe he's stuck in there. More than a week overdue! I wish witches would learn to induce birth without affecting a baby's magic!"

"Since that day has not arrived, however, you will just have to wait until Sextus Maximus decides to make an appearance," said Severus. "I seem to recall my mother telling me that I was born two and a half weeks after my due date."

"Thanks," she grumbled. "I really needed to hear that right now." Stretching and rubbing her back, she groaned miserably. "I am so uncomfortable."

"Well," her husband replied, "If you want to look on the bright side of things"

"Which you so commonly do," Hermione interrupted sarcastically.

"At least you won't have to go through the ceremony while listening to your newborn wailing at the back of the room."

"Very true. Well, let's get up there and get it over with."

"Listen to you. You've been looking forward to this for years, and now you want to get it over with'."

"Theoretically speaking, I already have my master's degree. I just don't have the certificate yet."

"Yes, dear," said Severus in that frustrating tone which meant that he didn't agree but also didn't want to start an argument. He leaned down and scooped up Theo. 

In the Great Hall, Hermione sat between Severus and her mother, listening to the head of Oxford College droning on and on. There were twelve students here receiving degrees; in addition to Angelina and herself, there were ten residents of Hogsmeade who had enrolled in the distance learning program. She shifted this way and that on the wooden chair, trying to make herself comfortable.

"Mummy, Mummy, I sit on lap?" inquired Theo loudly. He managed to time his question so that it fell during a pause in the speech. His little voice seemed to fill the Great Hall, and everyone turned to look at them.

"Hush, Theo," she frowned. "And no, you may not. Mummy doesn't have much of a lap any more. Play with your cars."

Theo, who was currently sitting on the stone floor with some Matchbox cars that his grandmother had brought him, pouted at his mother. 

"I'll hold you," said Severus quietly. "Come to Daddy." Once settled, Theo began happily pushing the car up and down his father's arms and chest while making motoring noises. Severus gave him a withering glare, which was ignored.

Hermione leaned forward, rubbing her back irritably_. At least I won't be here much longer,_ she thought. 

"And now, the candidate for master's degree," the distinguished voice of Francis Fawcett boomed. Hermione rose from her chair and waddled up to the dais, where she was presented with her diploma and acknowledged with a round of applause.

At last the ceremony was over. "Let's get back to our rooms. You don't look so well," whispered Severus.

"I've never felt so awful in my life," said Hermione with a moan. "Take Theo on down; I'll be there in a little bit. I need to stop by the restroom first–there's no way I can make it all the way down to the dungeons."

In the women's toilet next to the Great Hall, she slammed the door of the nearest stall shut, hurriedly pulled down her underwear, and sat heavily down. As her bladder began to empty itself, she sighed with relief. "How am I supposed to last any longer like this? I can hardly go an hour without visiting the loo," she said to the empty bathroom around her.

Suddenly she caught sight of the crotch of her voluminous maternity knickers. Seeing the streaks of red there, she began to laugh hilariously. "Oh, Merlin! I thought I was just a fat uncomfortable cow! All this time, I've been in labor!"

***

Eight hours later, Hermione collapsed from a sitting position into the stack of pillows behind her. Severus wiped her brow tenderly. "Aren't you glad it's over, love?" he asked softly.

She said nothing, but watched as Madame Pomfrey wrapped the flailing infant in magically warmed blankets and handed the little bundle to her. "Hello, sweet thing," she whispered hoarsely.

"Have a drink, dear," said the mediwitch, giving her a glass of water. "Your voice is worn out from all the yelling."

Hermione handed her child to her husband and accepted the water gratefully. When she turned to look at her baby again, she found Severus gingerly touching a tiny hand that somehow had managed to claw its way out of the swaddling blankets. "I'd forgotten how small they start out," he said quietly.

"You aren't disappointed that it's another boy?" she asked slowly. They hadn't performed the gender determination charm this time around, so the sex of the baby had been a surprise. 

"How could I be disappointed with this little princeling?" whispered Severus. "Look at him. He's so strong and determined. He's going to be a conqueror. He needs a conqueror's name. Let's seeAugustus? No. That sounds too old for a little tyke like this. Antony? Julius?"

"How about William?" suggested Hermione tentatively.

Severus's dark eyes flashed with excitement. "William the Conqueror it is," he said. He bowed his head and kissed little William on the tip of his unusually large nose.

***

This chapter is dedicated to my oldest sister, who successfully defended the thesis for her doctorate a week after her second child's due date. Her daughter conveniently waited to be born until a few days after this ordeal. 


	21. In Memoriam

****

Chapter Twenty

In Memoriam

August 31, 2004

(two years later)

__

Meetings have certainly become noisier over the years, thought Hermione to herself as she settled into a chair in the staff room. The few times she'd visited the staffroom as a student, it had been sparsely furnished with a wardrobe, a table, a sofa, and several chairs. Now it boasted a whole corner full of picture books, another corner overrun with toys, plus a dozen or so child-sized chairs scattered throughout the room.

She was surrounded the din of small voices chattering, the rattle of blocks tumbling to the floor, the clank of dishes being slammed on the counter in the toy kitchen. This was, of course, in addition to the hubbub normally associated with pre-meeting gossip. 

Thankfully, since the children were born, Minerva, Charlie, and Severus had taken to discussing things such as potty training and discipline. Before birth they'd gabbed about which students were dating whom, including guesses as to how far the aforementioned couples had gone physically. Severus took an almost voyeuristic pleasure in catching couples "in the act".

Things settled down somewhat when Albus entered the room. Well, the adults settled down, anyway. Leo shrieked, "Papa!" and ran to sit on his father's lap.

"Why the extra staff meeting, Albus?" piped up Flitwick.

"I'm trying to anticipate our future needs," said Dumbledore, ruffling his son's hair lovingly. "Let's face it: in ten years, we'll be swamped with students. Seven years from tomorrow we'll get our first large crop of children. The next year, we'll get the bunch who missed the cut-off date; and following that, we'll start to get younger siblings of the first crew."

Professor Vector cleared her throat. "My calculations indicate that it will be two or three generations before the reverberations of that silly law start to fade."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore. "Which will necessitate the expansion of the staff. Now I know that many of you are quite attached to your teaching positions and will be loath to share them with others." He glared pointedly at Severus. 

The Potions Master pretended not to notice; he turned and spoke softly to two-year-old Will, who was handing him a toy cauldron. Hermione heard Will's little voice saying, "Deem-liss Seep, Daddy."

"Of course that day is a long way off," continued the Headmaster. "But I am asking you to consider the following questions. Firstly, how many classes will we need for each year? Currently we have each year divided into two or four groups, depending on subject. How will that change if we have two or three times the number of students? Secondly, how many staff members will we need to teach your subject to that many classes? And finally, do you have any suggestions as to who might fill the extra positions? I'm giving you four years to consider. Then we'll meet again and discuss our options."

***

"Madness," said Severus as they walked slowly back to the dungeons.

"Can't you think of anyone you'd like to share your classroom with?" asked Hermione with a smile.

"Besides you? Only one. And there's no way he'd do it."

"No, probably not. But then again, you never know until you ask. He's contrary enough that he might say yes just to spite you."

Her husband smirked at her. "You don't even know who I'm talking about."

"Oh, come on, love," she grinned. "I've been married to you for five years now. I know how your mind works. It's Draco, isn't it?"

He frowned at her seeming clairvoyance. "So you know how my mind works, do you? Tell me what I'm thinking now."

She leaned over and whispered in his ear: "You want to shag me senseless."

His grin was triumphant. "Close. Very close. But not good enough."

"Do I have to go into specific details?" she grimaced.

They had reached the dungeons now; Severus brought the boys into their bedroom and ordered them to lie down for a nap. Having done this, he dragged his wife into the master bedroom and pinned her against the wall.

"Do you know what I want more than anything?" he asked her.

"Perhaps not," said Hermione.

He leaned close to her face. "I want to have a daughter who's just like you. I want to make love to you and get you pregnant right now."

"Oh!" she cried, taken aback. "II never really considered"

"Please?" he begged. "Just one more child?"

"I'll think about it," she said. She promised herself that she would consider it. Just not right now. 

In the mean time she didn't mind making love to Severus. Actually, come to think of it, "didn't mind" was a wrong choice of wordsshe'd love to hop in the sack. They could pretend that they were making another child, even if, in the back of her mind, she knew that she was still taking the Contraceptus potion.

***

It was two days later that she made up her mind. As they'd decided years before, both she and Severus both participated in the education of their children. Of course, neither of them would dream of demanding more from a child than was appropriate for his age. Theodore spent ten minutes with each of his parents every day; William, only five. Usually Severus had Will in the mornings and Theo in the afternoons, with Hermione taking the other child.

On this particular afternoon, Hermione put down the book of colors that she and Will had been going through. He was making excellent progress; he knew most of the colors, though he still confused pink and orange. 

"I done?" he asked.

"Yes, sweetheart, you're done. Why don't you go and play with your blocks for a while?"

Giggling gleefully, he slipped off her lap and ran off to the bedroom he shared with his older brother.

Hermione looked over at her husband, who was doing flashcards with Theo.

"Hellebore," Theo was saying.

"Correct. And this one?" Severus held up another flashcard. 

Theo, unconsciously imitating his father's scowl, pondered a bit before replying, "Wormwood."

"Very good."

Hermione continued to watch as her husband patiently worked through the pictures of different herbs with their son. _He is such a good father,_ she thought. _I never really expected him to be so patientor so gentle._

They had reached the last flashcard. "This is easy," Theo said with a grin. "Asphodel. I saw some by the lake yesterday."

"Really?" Severus asked in surprise. "You'll have to show me."

"Now, Daddy?"

"Why not?" Raising his voice, he called, "William, we are going for a walk. Would you like to come?"

Will came zipping out of his room at top speed, holding socks in one hand and shoes in the other. "Hep me, Daddy?"

"Very well. Sit down." After his younger son's feet were shod, Severus took hold of a boy with each hand and led them out of the room, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.

It was true, of course, that in many ways Severus had not changed. He was still an Absolute Bastard in the classroom. Certainly he hadn't softened his stance towards students breaking the rules–_especially_ when said students were Gryffindors. 

And yet, somehow, he seemed so different. He was so tender with his boys, so–relaxed, for lack of a better word. Fatherhood had brought out a different side of Severus Snape, and she liked it. She liked it so much that she wanted to prolong it.

How much more trouble could three children be than two?

***

It was a good thing that Leo was in primary school now; it freed Minerva to take over all of the Transfiguration classes again.

Hermione hadn't been terribly thrilled at the temporary loss of her part-time job. Her work was closely linked to her sanity. She loved her children dearly, but she desperately needed an outlet for her intellect.

And yet even she had to realize that it was necessary, for this pregnancy was much more tenuous than her first two. She was so nauseated that she could barely keep anything down. That, in and of itself, was not unusual; after all, Minerva had been the same way.

The problem was the spotting. At first it had been light and pink in color, just a few drops of discharge per day. Then it started getting heavier, darker. Madam Pomfrey had put her on bedrest.

And now she was stuck in the dungeons twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She couldn't even go to the library. Of course Peggy could bring her books–and she did–but Hermione missed being able to walk down aisles of dusty tomes, picking one out at random, browsing to her hearts content.

Keeping Will out of trouble was also difficult. She tried to keep him in her bedroom as much as she could–she read more picture books aloud per day than she'd previously thought possible–but it is never easy to restrain a restless toddler.

For once Hermione actually wished she were a Muggle. Then, at least, she could use the television as a babysitter part of the time.

Of course, had she been a Muggle, she wouldn't have had Peggy to follow Will when he went wandering through the other rooms. Nor would she have been able to use Summoning Charms to grab things she needed. 

And so it went for weeks. Four or five weeks–or maybe six–how long had it been, anyway? At last the spotting and cramping eased enough to put her mind at rest. She was allowed to get out of bed to use the loo–a relief, for bedpans were a great indignity. Things were definitely improving.

***

The morning ritual went as it always did.

"Promise me you'll stay in bed," said Severus as he pulled on his socks.

"Won't leave unless necessary," replied Hermione, not looking up from her book.

"Don't do anything risky." Her husband was now putting on his shoes.

"No dear," she replied in a monotone, not even thinking about her answer. He gave the same orders, word for word, every day; her answers were always the same.

By afternoon she was restless. She had not bled today; not one little bit. Surely she could take a walk, by herself, to escape the dungeons? She wouldn't leave her bed unless necessary; well, for her sanity's sake, it was necessary. Necessary couldn't possibly mean just using the toilet. Besides–she couldn't miss today. She hadn't missed a year yet. 

Everyone else visited the War Memorial on Victory Day, the fourteenth of February. Not Hermione. She needed to be there when there weren't hordes of people around so she could express her grief privately. She was a very private person, after all. Remembrance Day seemed an equally appropriate time to visit, so she had always come on the eleventh day of November.

She peeked into the boys' room, where Theodore and William were taking their afternoon nap. Neither was stirring. She could leave them safely as long as Peggy knew to look after them.

Five minutes later, she was walking slowly–so as not to overexert herself–towards Hogsmeade.

The War Memorial had been designed, in part, by Colin Creevey. He had visited America after his fifth year and, impressed by the memorials in Washington, had snapped several rolls of film. A year and a half later, Dumbledore had expressed the need for a permanent monument; Colin had given him a number of photos of the Vietnam Memorial.

So now, just east of Hogsmeade station, there stood a wall of white marble which was engraved with the names of the fallen. Hermione ran her hands over the words, pausing when she reached the names of those she had known. 

Susan Bones–she'd parlayed the D.A. from a small, private club to a school-wide institution in their sixth year. Her name was right next to her aunt Amelia's. 

Lee Jordan–Hermione would always remember the first time she'd seen him, carrying that awful tarantula, and could still hear his voice in her head, commenting on Quidditch games. 

Remus Lupin–the first real Defense teacher they'd had. He was the one who had, in a way, inspired S.P.E.W.; before she'd met him, she'd never really considered the plight of part-humans in the Wizarding World. He'd fallen along with his lover, Tonks, as they fought back to back in the middle of a circle of Death Eaters.

Hermione, who had come to the T's by now, traced Tonks's name with her index finger. How would the Metamorphmagus react if she were to see her hated first name inscribed here for all to see? She was tracing the name Nymphadora again when she felt the cramps begin again.

"Oh no," she gasped. She spread her cloak on the ground and lay down on top of it, hoping that the dull, throbbing ache would go away. It didn't. 

And so it was that Severus found her lying there half an hour later. His face was frozen into a mask devoid of emotion; Hermione couldn't tell exactly what he was feeling as he whipped out his wand, muttered "Mobilicorpus!" and levitated her back home.

Once inside their quarters, however, she had no doubt as to what was going on in his mind. "YOU FOOLISH GIRL! WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING?"

"Oh, so I'm a foolish girl now, am I?" she snapped. "Wasn't it just last night that you were saying how much you enjoyed being married to an intelligent woman?"

"Intelligent people can make foolish choices," he snarled. "AND YOU CERTAINLY DID! ANYONE WITH HALF A LICK OF COMMON SENSE WOULD HAVE STAYED IN BED!"

"Yes," she shot back sarcastically. "Because most people endowed with common sense enjoy being shut up in their room all day with nothing to do."

He leaned down so that his face was level with hers and whispered menacingly, "You claim to be Gryffindor to the core. You are the one who's always lecturing me about sacrificing for the common good. But you just couldn't sacrifice a bit of your time for the sake of our child, could you? Typical Gryffindor. All talk and no action!"

She pushed him out of the way and fled to the bathroom so she could lock him out and find a bit of peace. Besides, it seemed that the flow was increasing, and she needed more than just a thin liner in her knickers. She knew the prognosis for this pregnancy wasn't good. As she approached the door, she felt a clot pass. Not a small one either, from the feel of things.

When she reached the vicinity of the toilet and pulled down her underpants, she gave a sharp cry. It was not just a clot, after all. She sat down on the loo heavily and burst out sobbing.

The lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing her husband standing with wand in hand.

"Hermione? Are you all right?" His voice was back to the almost-whisper she was accustomed to, but there was still a tinge of sharpness in his voice.

In answer she lifted her robe, revealing what lay in the crotch of her knickers. He stared at the little sac which contained the still but unmistakable form of a baby. He stood equally still for a while, then suddenly raised his wand and began chanting in Chinese.

"It won't work; it's no longer in my uterus," Hermione interrupted. 

She was wrong. The spell was effective enough, for a faint hieroglyph appeared and rotated over the remains of her child.

Severus's breathing became heavy. "YOU IMBECILE! YOU KILLED MY SON!" he snarled.

Hermione fumbled in her robes, pulled out her wand, and pointed it at him. She levitated him out of the doorway, slammed the door with a flick of her wand, and sealed it with the strongest locking spells she knew. Then she collapsed on the floor and began sobbing again.

She must have passed out, for when she opened her eyes again the light was dim and Severus was leaning over her. "Hermione?" he asked gently.

He lifted herself slowly to a sitting position and tipped a potion down her throat. "This will keep you from hemorrhaging," he said gruffly.

Her legs were warm and sticky with blood–she hadn't managed to put her underpants back on before fainting–and she still felt unbearably crampy. "I feel awful," she moaned.

He cleaned the blood off of her with a gentle washing spell. It was the same spell he'd used to bathe their boys when they were infants, which made Hermione feel terribly helpless.

When she was clean, he helped her to her feet. The loss of blood had made her light-headed; she swayed as she stood, and he took her in his arms and held her tightly.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier," he said softly. "I didn't mean what I said. I knowI mean, literature indicates that there's little you can do to stop an impending miscarriage. Your walk may not have been the trigger after all. II had a feeling it would end this way, but I didn't want it to" There was a long silence before he added shakily: "I never thought I would want another son, but now I do."

"You have another son," Hermione said, wiping the tears from your eyes. "You just won't be able to see him grow up."

He lifted her gently and carried her into the bedroom. "I know you're eager to get back on your feet," he sighed, "but please try to rest for a couple of days. I want you to make a full recovery. I may have lost a son, but I refuse to lose my wife."

***

Although Severus Snape had sold his ancestral family home years before, there was one part of the grounds he had refused to sell. Deep in the forest behind the manor house was a small clearing where generations of Snapes lay buried. It was in the corner of this small plot that Hermione and Severus knelt together, placing a small box into a hole and covering it with earth. 

As she patted the top layer of dirt down firmly, Hermione broke out sobbing again. She turned to her husband and buried her face in his chest. In response, he took her in his arms and held her tightly. His face remained impassive, but as he squeezed her tightly against him, she could feel his body shaking.

Finally they separated. And yet, even then, they could not bear to leave; they stood together, hand in hand, staring at the headstone of the small grave.

SEPTIMUS AUGUSTUS SNAPE

Due 2 June 2005


	22. At Last

****

Chapter Twenty-One

At last

July 12, 2010

(six years later)

Feeling again the familiar tightening of her uterus, Hermione sighed and massaged her swollen abdomen. Like all of her labors, this one was progressing slowly. After pronouncing her in "early active labor", Madam Pomfrey had gone off to the infirmary for a while to check on Jason Weasley, who was still in bed after an encounter with the Whomping Willow. Hermione was now alone with her husband; she felt much more relaxed now that Poppy had stopped fussing over her.

"Can I get you anything, love? Water, perhaps?"

"Water would be fine, thanks." She heaved her bulk out of the chair and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

"Do you ever regret not casting that charm? You know, we can still do it." Severus was walking alongside her now with a glass of water in his hand. She snatched it from him and drained it in one gulp.

"Ahhh. You never realize how dehydrated you are until you start drinking. Damn summer pregnancies. Twice as bad this time."

Severus pretended that she hadn't just ignored him. "You realize, of course, that had we cast the charm, we would have known that we were having twins several months earlier."

"I like my gifts to be surprises, you know."

"Hmmm. I generally do, too, but I think the suspense is going to kill me this time." Severus had always been somewhat agitated during Hermione's labors, but he seemed unusually anxious this time.

She stopped, suddenly, grabbed his arms tightly, and leaned forward on him. "Ooooh! Ahhhhh!"

"You're shivering, Hermione. Transition already?" Severus waited until the contraction had passed to summon Peggy, who went swiftly to fetch Madam Pomfrey. No sooner had he finished then his wife was gripped with another fierce contraction.

"Arrrrgh! Why did I ever agree to this? I'm going to give you a vasectomy tomorrow, Mister Snape!" she wailed.

As the contraction waned, she collapsed into his arms. "Hold on, love," he whispered. "It will all be over soon."

"Easy to say when you're not the one delivering the baby," said Hermione, panting. Another contraction hit with full force, and she gripped her husband's arms with such intensity that he let out a muffled yelp of pain.

"OOOOOOH!"

Severus had learned to recognize that sound. "Hermione, are you pushing already? Hold on, Madam Pomfrey will be here any moment now!"

"I can'tOOOOH! help it! This baby really wants out of here."

She leaned against his chest again, limp and exhausted. "I can't hold back, Severus. He's coming out fast. I'm not going to be pushing for half an hour this time. If Pomfrey doesn't get here in time you'll just have toAAAAAH! deliver the babyMMMMM! Oh no, SeverusARRRGH! Get down there, now!"

Hermione paused, panting, as her body took a brief respite from its efforts. "I can feel him, he's crowning."

Severus helped her to squat down on the floor. "Hold on to the chair, love. I can't support you if I'm to catch the baby."

The familiar pressure began returning and Hermione pushed with all her might. Less than a minute later, she heard a loud wail as the baby's head emerged.

"I've got him, HermioneI've gother! It's a girl!" Severus was behind her, holding on to her with one arm and cradling the kicking, screaming baby in the other. "Isn't she beautiful?"

To a casual observer, the red, wrinkled, squalling baby would no doubt have appeared quite ugly. But to Hermione, the little girl was indeed the most beautiful creature in the world.

"Peggy!" said Severus hoarsely. "Bring warm blankets! Hurry!"

"Here, sir, here! Wrap little one up quickly!" squealed Peggy enthusiastically. "Little miss mustn't catch cold." 

A frantic knocking at the door heralded the arrival of Madam Pomfrey. Severus motioned for Peggy to answer it, and seconds later the mediwitch swept into the room.

"Oh, my, I ran as fast as I could, but it wasn't fast enough! No matter. We have to get you to bed, Hermione. You'll be delivering the placenta for this one shortly, and then the other baby will probably be making an appearance."

"Shouldn't I be walking around to help the other baby out?" whimpered Hermione feebly.

"No, ducks. Only if there's trouble getting him to engage in the pelvis. You're already worn out. Severus, help me move her to the bed."

"Do you have a good hold on our daughter?" Severus purred in his wife's ear. When she nodded, he lifted her up gently and carried her and his daughter–still attached by the umbilical cord to her mother–to the bedroom.

"Urrgh," said Hermione irritably. "No sooner do I get to relax then the contractions start up again."

Madam Pomfrey had fetched a glass of water. "Drink. You're dehydrated and you still have a considerable amount of work to do."

Five minutes later, Hermione was hit once again with the incredible urge to push. "ARRGH! I thought you said that OOOOH! the placenta was supposed to come first!"

"Usually it does for twins. Not always, though." Poppy quickly clamped the first umbilical cord and had Severus cut it so that the first baby could be set to the side more easily.

The second baby took longer to appear. When, at last, the slippery body emerged and was placed in Hermione's arms, it was obvious why. She was a good two inches longer than her twin and a full three pounds heavier.

"Two girls," whispered Hermione in awe. "I think I'm in shock."

"Me too," said Severus quietly as he cradled the smaller of the two twins in his arms. "It's a good shock, though."

After Madam Pomfrey had delivered the placentas she helped Hermione into a fresh nightgown and had Peggy put clean sheets on the bed. "Now lie down and rest. Make sure you eat something right away; I bet your blood sugar level is terribly low."

"Yes, yes, what is Missus wanting to eat? Peggy will run to the kitchens and get it right away!"

"Red meat," said Hermione happily. "I feel absolutely carnivorous. A roast beef sandwich sounds perfect. Extra large, with horseradish."

Severus reappeared at her bedside. "I took the liberty of sending for the boys. They always love to watch the newborn examination."

A few minutes later the door burst open. Three boys, ages ten, eight, and four, charged in at full speed; a fourth stood back, watching timidly from the doorway.

"Come in, Leo, you're family too," croaked Hermione, who seemed to be losing her voice.

The boy, tall and skinny with auburn hair and amazingly blue eyes, tiptoed in and peeked cautiously over the shoulders of his friends, who were all cooing and giggling at the babies. "More boys, Professor Snape? Or did you manage a girl this time?"

"I believe I managed two girls, Mr. Dumbledore," said Severus in a dignified manner.

"Hooray! Sisters!" yelled Theo, spinning round and round in excitement. Will and Edmund began whooping and hollering too, dancing in glee. Even Leo hopped about excitedly, grinning madly. One of the babies, startled by the noise, began to wail.

Not for the first time, Hermione was grateful that she had married the Bane of the Classroom; only a man of his imposing personality could keep a handle on the gang of raucous boys he had sired.

"Children!" he said in his fabled stage whisper. "Those who are not quiet and attentive will be escorted from the room and will not be allowed to assist in the newborn examination!"

Immediately the noise stopped; the boys gathered at the foot of the bed, where they helped Madam Pomfrey weigh, measure, and count fingers and toes. 

"Do they have names, ma'am?" Leo inquired politely.

Hermione looked at Severus and sighed. "They came a little earlier than we expected. I'm afraid we only have boys' names picked out right now. We'll have the naming ceremony first thing tomorrow morning," she said. "Now I think I need a bit of peace and quiet, if you don't mind."

Hours later, after Severus had tucked his three sons into bed and then assisted Hermione in settling the girls off to sleep, he joined her in bed. "I propose that we each name one of the girls," he said.

"By propose', do you mean that you won't have it any other way?"

"You know me too well, love," he smirked. "May I name the little one?"

"All right. Do you already have a name picked out?"

"I do. She will be Lucy, meaning light, because I think she will be the light of my life."

"What about me? Aren't I supposed to be the light in your life?" snapped Hermione teasingly.

"Would you rather that I name you Lucy, then?" They both shook with silent giggles, desperate not to wake the babies.

"And Lucy's sister? What will she be named?" Severus asked quietly.

Hermione paused. "I thinkI think I will name her Dorothy. Because she reminds me that there's no place like home."

"There really is no place like Hogwarts, is there?"

She punched him playfully on the shoulder. "You silly goose, I didn't mean Hogwarts. I meant that–well, there's an old Muggle saying, Home is where the heart is.' My home is here." She put her arms around him. "My home is with you."

Severus drew her close. "And my home will never be anywhere but with you."

He crushed her body roughly against his and kissed her passionately. When, at last, they broke apart, gasping for breath, Hermione's eyes were shining with tears.

"What is it, love?" her husband asked as he gently brushed a tear from her cheek.

"It's justoh, I love you so much, did you know that? It's like you're a part of me." She sniffled and rubbed her eyes. "Am I babbling? Maybe it's just these stupid postpartum hormones getting to me."

He pulled her to him gently and nuzzled the top of her head. "No, you're not babbling. I know exactly what you're talking about. I think I would die if I ever lost you."

Hermione's mind swam back to her younger years, remembering the frustration she'd felt at being forced to marry Severus, the irritation she'd harbored for so many months before finally giving herself to him. Back then, she'd often considered what she'd done a "noble sacrifice", giving up her dreams and her happiness for the good of the Wizarding World. She'd been so wrapped up in herself that she'd completely missed out on what should have been several wonderful months of newlywed bliss.

Luckily she hadn't wasted too much time. Nor had she given up her dreams, though they had changed somewhat over the years. Surely that was to be expected.

She had a degree, a part-time job that she loved, and five wonderful children. What more could a woman want? Well, maybe a husband who was loving and intelligent and a great loverand she had that too. What luck, she thought. 

As she drifted in the gray area between wakefulness and sleep, a thought struck her and she giggled out loud. Perhaps it hadn't been luck after all.

"What's so funny?" Severus mumbled, rousing from his slumber.

"Long live Arithmancy," she mumbled drowsily. Then she drifted off to sleep.

Fin.


	23. Epilogue

****

Epilogue

Two days after the birth of Lucy and Dorothy, Leo Dumbledore turned eleven years old. His beaming father presented him with his Hogwarts letter at breakfast time, which brought riotous applause from the entire staff.

That night Albus Dumbledore died in his sleep. Within a week his wife had succeeded him as headmistress of Hogwarts. 

It was, in a small way, a good thing, for as headmistress she did not have to read aloud the list of students being sorted. When Leo's name was read on September the first, she sniffled; when he was sorted into Gryffindor, she burst into great sobs, much to his embarrassment.

That year, of course, the first of the Wizarding Baby Boomers entered Hogwarts. There were three times as many students in the first year as there were in any other class.

That year also marked the breaking of the vow Severus Snape had made when he first became a father. Lucy attended all of his potions classes, carried snugly in a baby sling heavily enspelled with protective charms. Of course, since he only taught NEWT level classes, he was less fearful of exploding cauldrons. Draco Malfoy and Colin Creevey were now teaching the younger students.

The following year, Theo Snape was also sorted into Gryffindor. He whooped with delight, waving his arms in the air as he ran over to sit beside his best friend. As the assembled students tittered over this display of enthusiasm, William Snape was heard to exclaim, "What's so exciting about Gryffindor?" Needless to say, two years later Will was sorted into Slytherin.

In later years, Edmund was sorted into Ravenclaw, Dorothy into Gryffindor, and Lucy into Slytherin, much to her father's delight.

Then, of course, the cycles of life started repeating themselves. The Snape children, along with many of their compatriots, had been raised in a large family; they did not enjoy being alone and longed to have families of their own. 

Severus was less than pleased with his sons' choice of wives: one Weasley, one Longbottom, and one Finnegan. He scowled for days when Dorothy had the gall to elope with Sirius Potter. When Lucy announced her engagement to Darius Malfoy, however, he strutted around the castle like a proud peacock.

When the children were grown and gone, time seemed to pass even more quickly than before.

One sunny day in July, Hermione found herself at the Burrow once more. As she stepped through the garden gate, holding hands with her husband, she thought back to the day when she'd come here alone, afraid, and angry at Arthur Weasley.

She looked across the teeming horde gathered in the back garden and saw, as she had never seen before, the results of the law that she'd once cursed. 

Arthur Weasley's seven offspring had managed to produce thirty-seven grandchildren for the former Minister of Magic. Now that they both had children married to Weasleys, Hermione and Harry were actual family members rather than honorary Weasleys. Still, Arthur often counted their children amongst his grandchildren, since that brought the total to a nice round fifty.

All fifty were now married and had children of their own–and Celestia (Ginny's oldest) was about to become a grandmother. As Celestia's husband, Leo Dumbledore, relayed the news, he grinned and twinkled his blue eyes in a familiar way that made Hermione sad for a few brief moments.

Not long thereafter she reached the guest of honor. "Happy One Hundredth Birthday, Arthur," she said shaking the hand of the now-graying wizard.

"The one hundredth birthday is nowhere near as fun as the one-hundredth great-grandchild," he said with a tired smile.

"I imagine not," she replied, casting a glance over at the paddock where several dozen Weasley offspring were playing an impromptu game of Mass Quidditch. At least ten Bludgers were flying about, in addition to three or four Quaffles–it was hard to keep track. Hermione assumed that there was at least one Golden Snitch on the playing field, though she couldn't see any at the moment.

"Just look at the mayhem your silly little law caused," she said, gesturing toward the mass of screaming children on broomsticks.

"Oh, I suppose the amount of mayhem in the Wizarding World did increase somewhat," said Arthur, fondly watching one of his great-grandsons tossing a Quaffle through the center goalpost, "But then, so did the amount of love. Wouldn't you say?"

Hermione squeezed Severus's hand fondly. "I think it might have," she said quietly. Severus had loosened up enough over the years that he could lean down and give her a quick kiss. She looked up into the lovely black eyes she'd grown to love and sighed with contentment.

With great reluctance, she turned from her husband back to the aged wizard standing in front of her. "Arthur? Thank you."


End file.
